As Drake lounged against warm tiles in steaming water that was just the right shade of hot, he felt the day’s tension draining out through his toes. He wasn’t even cut any longer, not after both Lydia and Emily waved their magic fingers over his wounds. Fortunately, he hadn’t even had to take his shirt off for that. They just needed to be close.
And Emily, like Lydia, was no longer anyone’s slave. With Lydia standing by, Emily had listened to his decree freeing her from magical compulsion with a mildly interested expression, and after, she’d asked only one thing. Her grin had been wide and her eyes even wider.
“Does this mean I can go into town and get drunk whenever I like?”
Emily had stayed. She’d made it abundantly clear she intended to stay at this manor and fight for it of her own free will, and her reaction was a good sign the rest of these people would stay to serve willingly as well. Once he saved their manor for them, they’d want to keep it.
Drake glanced down in wonder at his bare and now unbloodied chest, entirely unmarked by scratches or scrapes. There was no sign of the wounds from his fight with Lord Dickcheese. There was no sign of the circular burn mark that had been on his chest.
Healing magic. In a world where people were going to be constantly trying to kill him, that would be useful. And this clean, clear water was just perfect. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out this was a magic bathhouse. If so, he was all for it.
It had been years since Drake had taken the time to enjoy a long, hot bath. And this bathhouse—his own private bathhouse—could fit four of the bathrooms in his apartment back home. The square pool of warm water was more of a small swimming pool than a bath.
Also, they did have soap. It came in balls and smelled a bit funny, and it was much scratchier than he was used to, but it was still soap. He’d scrubbed himself clean when he got in the bath, and now his skin practically tingled. That stuff must exfoliate as well.
While Drake wasn’t a huge fan of fantasy novels or fantasy games, he had always been interested in real history and battles. One thing his limited study of history had taught him is that a lot of people back in ancient times had smelled really, really bad. Like, just godawful.
A bath in the local stream? Maybe once every few months. Soap and shampoo? That was expensive for anyone who wasn’t rich or a noble.
Many people could make their own soap and quite a few had—he’d read somewhere that Vikings were meticulous in regards to personal grooming—but not everyone in olden times had the desire or privilege to smell nice and clean. Stinky people were not who he wanted to deal with at the moment. He was having enough problems with murderous people.
He knew he couldn’t lounge in this bath much longer. He had to catch up with Lord Westin before he told his daddy about the demon summoning, and then all their noble buddies got together and burned his new manor to the ground. While he’d meant to read Zuri’s ledger in the bath, he’d forgotten all about that once he was in the perfectly warm water.
Like the amazing burger he’d had for lunch, this was a great bath. Having people trying to kill him sucked, but piles of money and luxurious bath houses? This fucking ruled. He had absolutely no regrets... at the moment... about his choice to stay and fight for his new manor.
He was clean and warm and relaxed, and it was already getting dark outside. Lydia had assured him they should leave under cover of darkness anyway, just in case Lord Proudglade’s people had left any spies behind to watch the mansion. Lydia seemed confident no one would spot them leaving, and given how right she’d been so far, Drake had no reason to doubt her.
He’d just convinced himself to get out of the perfect bath and brave the chilly air when the hinges of the private doors to his private bathhouse audibly creaked.
He hunkered back down in the water. “Lydia?” Who else would it be? She’d said no one had the key to this place but her. “That you?”
“It’s just me, Lord Gloomwood!” another woman yelled happily. “I’ve brought towels for you, and a fresh change of clothes!”
It was Emily. The redheaded Amazon battle maid who was entirely too cheery for him to be comfortable around her. He couldn’t quite figure her out.
At least Lydia, as the former steward of a guy who tortured people for fun and summoned demons on the weekends, seemed appropriately somber. Olivia also seemed appropriately freaked out by her unique occupation. Emily, by comparison, acted like she was out for a day at the park. Had she just not noticed what was going on?
Drake looked to the open and empty doorway that led to a short, L-shaped hallway that would take him to the doors. “Sure, just leave them outs... whoa, holy shit!”
As Emily strode fearlessly into the bathhouse, Drake dived for the nearest bath wall. He flattened himself against it, putting the stone wall between his naked lower portion and the smiling woman who stood paces away holding fluffy white towels. This was clear water.
Emily glanced down at him in surprise. “Is there a problem with the bath?”
“No problem!” Drake managed somehow. “Why are you in here?”
“You needed towels, lord.”
“And you couldn’t just leave them on a table by the door?”
“The air in here is chilly, and I do not wish you to catch a cold.”
She looked like she was trying to play this whole awkward interaction completely straight, but she was still smirking under all her crazy. She obviously knew he hadn’t wanted her peeking at him in the bath. He’d already been ogled enough for one day.
“Just set the towels down right there. That’s fine, Emily.”
She dropped the towels right where she stood, which was only a few paces from the bath. Convenient, sure, but still. Where were his male employees? He made a firm mental note to ask Lydia for a male attendant... as soon as he wasn’t naked in the bath.
As he considered, he realized that everyone he’d met in this manor, other than Westin and Lord Dickcheese, had been a woman. But it couldn’t just be women in Gloomwood Manor, right? Lydia’s flutterstep powers and combat abilities could qualify her as an Amazon, but it wasn’t like he’d been teleported to Themyscira.
He hadn’t met the kitchen staff or the other employees in the manor yet, so there must be some dudes among their ranks. Having no dudes here felt weird. He wanted to have other men around, at least so would have someone to talk to about... guy stuff.
“Can I get you anything else, lord?” Emily asked eagerly. “Would you like me to soap your back?”
Drake glowered at her. “No, I don’t need anyone to soap my back. My back is very clean, thank you. You left the clothes you brought by the door?”
“On the bench just by the door, lord.”
“Thanks. So... you can go now.”
She snapped her heels together. “Lydia has organized our hunting party. We may go when you wish. I’ll be right outside.” She spun a 180 and sauntered off.
Drake gave her a moment after the door closed to make sure she wasn’t going to stumble back into the bath house. Seriously. What was wrong with that woman? He genuinely pondered asking Lydia if Olivia should come along as his second battle maid instead, but Olivia looked like she’d freak out if a mouse bit her.
If he was going to be facing golden knights, he wanted the big crazy Amazon at his back.
The air really was chilly in here. He actually was grateful he didn’t have to walk all the way back to the entry for a towel. Still mostly immersed in the achingly warm water of the bath, he stretched across the tile to where Emily had dropped the towels.
He pulled one over and tentatively tested it for softness. Fluffy soft. Magic towel.
He gratefully climbed out of the bath and immediately started shivering. The blessedly warm water made the cold air in the rest of this place even more noticeable. He hurriedly toweled himself off and then wrapped the second towel around his waist.
His warm bath had firmed up his decisions from earlier. He wasn’t going to die, and he wasn’t going to let his people die. He’d save his manor, free these people from this wretched blood pact, and then dodge assassins until he killed them all or they learned fear.
He hugged his chest with his arms and walked into the hallway, where he paused in shock. Emily had brought a fresh change of clothes. She had also brought his clothes, and not the silverweave he’d worn to negotiate with the Proudglade Knights.
Those were his insulated blue jeans, and that was his thick red hoodie, and damn, did they look warm. Even his thick white socks were there, alongside his worn and comfortable sneakers, as bright red and clean-looking as if they’d been through a spin cycle.
Had Emily washed all his clothes for him? Dried them too? Where had she even found his clothes? And how had she gotten all the blood out?
Dickcheese must have hidden his clothes somewhere. The presence of his clothes from back on Earth was a reminder Earth still existed. Drake couldn’t explain it rationally, but he was confident he’d find a way to visit again someday.
While there, he’d buy a toothbrush. He needed to find out if those existed here, and shaving with a straight razor was also going to take some practice. He’d shaved this morning before work, back on Earth, and he was already fuzzy. He hoped they at least had some variant of shaving cream, because he’d always found beards unbearably itchy.
The only article of clothing not present was his boxers, but Emily had left another pair of those frilly white silk things that looked like boxers with longer legs. They were absurdly comfortable, and they would likely make him even more warm. If it was as cold as he expected in the forest he was going to be trekking through tonight, he’d appreciate all this warmth.
Once Drake was dressed, he tucked his hands into the pocket on the front of his hoodie and sighed with satisfaction. These clothes were just clothes, but having his own clothes again felt heavenly. He wasn’t going to wear this outfit every day, of course. Probably just until he went to sleep, since the protection offered by silverweave was more important than comfort.
Yet still, he had his own clothes. Something from his past. And if he wanted to protect his new home, he had a blond-haired doofus to track down as soon as night fell.
As Drake lounged against warm tiles in steaming water that was just the right shade of hot, he felt the day’s tension draining out through his toes. He wasn’t even cut any longer, not after both Lydia and Emily waved their magic fingers over his wounds. Fortunately, he hadn’t even had to take his shirt off for that. They just needed to be close.
And Emily, like Lydia, was no longer anyone’s slave. With Lydia standing by, Emily had listened to his decree freeing her from magical compulsion with a mildly interested expression, and after, she’d asked only one thing. Her grin had been wide and her eyes even wider.
“Does this mean I can go into town and get drunk whenever I like?”
Emily had stayed. She’d made it abundantly clear she intended to stay at this manor and fight for it of her own free will, and her reaction was a good sign the rest of these people would stay to serve willingly as well. Once he saved their manor for them, they’d want to keep it.
Drake glanced down in wonder at his bare and now unbloodied chest, entirely unmarked by scratches or scrapes. There was no sign of the wounds from his fight with Lord Dickcheese. There was no sign of the circular burn mark that had been on his chest.
Healing magic. In a world where people were going to be constantly trying to kill him, that would be useful. And this clean, clear water was just perfect. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out this was a magic bathhouse. If so, he was all for it.
It had been years since Drake had taken the time to enjoy a long, hot bath. And this bathhouse—his own private bathhouse—could fit four of the bathrooms in his apartment back home. The square pool of warm water was more of a small swimming pool than a bath.
Also, they did have soap. It came in balls and smelled a bit funny, and it was much scratchier than he was used to, but it was still soap. He’d scrubbed himself clean when he got in the bath, and now his skin practically tingled. That stuff must exfoliate as well.
While Drake wasn’t a huge fan of fantasy novels or fantasy games, he had always been interested in real history and battles. One thing his limited study of history had taught him is that a lot of people back in ancient times had smelled really, really bad. Like, just godawful.
A bath in the local stream? Maybe once every few months. Soap and shampoo? That was expensive for anyone who wasn’t rich or a noble.
Many people could make their own soap and quite a few had—he’d read somewhere that Vikings were meticulous in regards to personal grooming—but not everyone in olden times had the desire or privilege to smell nice and clean. Stinky people were not who he wanted to deal with at the moment. He was having enough problems with murderous people.
He knew he couldn’t lounge in this bath much longer. He had to catch up with Lord Westin before he told his daddy about the demon summoning, and then all their noble buddies got together and burned his new manor to the ground. While he’d meant to read Zuri’s ledger in the bath, he’d forgotten all about that once he was in the perfectly warm water.
Like the amazing burger he’d had for lunch, this was a great bath. Having people trying to kill him sucked, but piles of money and luxurious bath houses? This fucking ruled. He had absolutely no regrets... at the moment... about his choice to stay and fight for his new manor.
He was clean and warm and relaxed, and it was already getting dark outside. Lydia had assured him they should leave under cover of darkness anyway, just in case Lord Proudglade’s people had left any spies behind to watch the mansion. Lydia seemed confident no one would spot them leaving, and given how right she’d been so far, Drake had no reason to doubt her.
He’d just convinced himself to get out of the perfect bath and brave the chilly air when the hinges of the private doors to his private bathhouse audibly creaked.
He hunkered back down in the water. “Lydia?” Who else would it be? She’d said no one had the key to this place but her. “That you?”
“It’s just me, Lord Gloomwood!” another woman yelled happily. “I’ve brought towels for you, and a fresh change of clothes!”
It was Emily. The redheaded Amazon battle maid who was entirely too cheery for him to be comfortable around her. He couldn’t quite figure her out.
At least Lydia, as the former steward of a guy who tortured people for fun and summoned demons on the weekends, seemed appropriately somber. Olivia also seemed appropriately freaked out by her unique occupation. Emily, by comparison, acted like she was out for a day at the park. Had she just not noticed what was going on?
Drake looked to the open and empty doorway that led to a short, L-shaped hallway that would take him to the doors. “Sure, just leave them outs... whoa, holy shit!”
As Emily strode fearlessly into the bathhouse, Drake dived for the nearest bath wall. He flattened himself against it, putting the stone wall between his naked lower portion and the smiling woman who stood paces away holding fluffy white towels. This was clear water.
Emily glanced down at him in surprise. “Is there a problem with the bath?”
“No problem!” Drake managed somehow. “Why are you in here?”
“You needed towels, lord.”
“And you couldn’t just leave them on a table by the door?”
“The air in here is chilly, and I do not wish you to catch a cold.”
She looked like she was trying to play this whole awkward interaction completely straight, but she was still smirking under all her crazy. She obviously knew he hadn’t wanted her peeking at him in the bath. He’d already been ogled enough for one day.
“Just set the towels down right there. That’s fine, Emily.”
She dropped the towels right where she stood, which was only a few paces from the bath. Convenient, sure, but still. Where were his male employees? He made a firm mental note to ask Lydia for a male attendant... as soon as he wasn’t naked in the bath.
As he considered, he realized that everyone he’d met in this manor, other than Westin and Lord Dickcheese, had been a woman. But it couldn’t just be women in Gloomwood Manor, right? Lydia’s flutterstep powers and combat abilities could qualify her as an Amazon, but it wasn’t like he’d been teleported to Themyscira.
He hadn’t met the kitchen staff or the other employees in the manor yet, so there must be some dudes among their ranks. Having no dudes here felt weird. He wanted to have other men around, at least so would have someone to talk to about... guy stuff.
“Can I get you anything else, lord?” Emily asked eagerly. “Would you like me to soap your back?”
Drake glowered at her. “No, I don’t need anyone to soap my back. My back is very clean, thank you. You left the clothes you brought by the door?”
“On the bench just by the door, lord.”
“Thanks. So... you can go now.”
She snapped her heels together. “Lydia has organized our hunting party. We may go when you wish. I’ll be right outside.” She spun a 180 and sauntered off.
Drake gave her a moment after the door closed to make sure she wasn’t going to stumble back into the bath house. Seriously. What was wrong with that woman? He genuinely pondered asking Lydia if Olivia should come along as his second battle maid instead, but Olivia looked like she’d freak out if a mouse bit her.
If he was going to be facing golden knights, he wanted the big crazy Amazon at his back.
The air really was chilly in here. He actually was grateful he didn’t have to walk all the way back to the entry for a towel. Still mostly immersed in the achingly warm water of the bath, he stretched across the tile to where Emily had dropped the towels.
He pulled one over and tentatively tested it for softness. Fluffy soft. Magic towel.
He gratefully climbed out of the bath and immediately started shivering. The blessedly warm water made the cold air in the rest of this place even more noticeable. He hurriedly toweled himself off and then wrapped the second towel around his waist.
His warm bath had firmed up his decisions from earlier. He wasn’t going to die, and he wasn’t going to let his people die. He’d save his manor, free these people from this wretched blood pact, and then dodge assassins until he killed them all or they learned fear.
He hugged his chest with his arms and walked into the hallway, where he paused in shock. Emily had brought a fresh change of clothes. She had also brought his clothes, and not the silverweave he’d worn to negotiate with the Proudglade Knights.
Those were his insulated blue jeans, and that was his thick red hoodie, and damn, did they look warm. Even his thick white socks were there, alongside his worn and comfortable sneakers, as bright red and clean-looking as if they’d been through a spin cycle.
Had Emily washed all his clothes for him? Dried them too? Where had she even found his clothes? And how had she gotten all the blood out?
Dickcheese must have hidden his clothes somewhere. The presence of his clothes from back on Earth was a reminder Earth still existed. Drake couldn’t explain it rationally, but he was confident he’d find a way to visit again someday.
While there, he’d buy a toothbrush. He needed to find out if those existed here, and shaving with a straight razor was also going to take some practice. He’d shaved this morning before work, back on Earth, and he was already fuzzy. He hoped they at least had some variant of shaving cream, because he’d always found beards unbearably itchy.
The only article of clothing not present was his boxers, but Emily had left another pair of those frilly white silk things that looked like boxers with longer legs. They were absurdly comfortable, and they would likely make him even more warm. If it was as cold as he expected in the forest he was going to be trekking through tonight, he’d appreciate all this warmth.
Once Drake was dressed, he tucked his hands into the pocket on the front of his hoodie and sighed with satisfaction. These clothes were just clothes, but having his own clothes again felt heavenly. He wasn’t going to wear this outfit every day, of course. Probably just until he went to sleep, since the protection offered by silverweave was more important than comfort.
Yet still, he had his own clothes. Something from his past. And if he wanted to protect his new home, he had a blond-haired doofus to track down as soon as night fell.
