Three days after he lied to Westin Proudglade, saved his not-quite-dead butler, and freed every last person in the manor from magical compulsion, Drake decided to take a private lunch in a random tea room and just... chill for a bit. He’d been busy.
After a brief debate and some manor-wide soul searching, every single former slave of the prior Lord Gloomwood chose to stay on as an employee. As Drake had hoped, convincing them to stay and defend the manor in which they’d lived the vast majority of their lives wasn’t that hard. Once he offered them the same excellent wage, nice room, and warm food to which they were accustomed without the nasty blood magic slavery, everyone got on board.
The only difference was, now, no one could make them do any evil shit. Most of his staff seemed very grateful for that. Score one for team No Slavery.
Lydia, of course, was the key to making it all work. Everyone in the manor trusted her implicitly, and now, she trusted him. That trust would keep the manor from collapsing until he could convince everyone else here he wasn’t an evil bastard.
Ensuring the loyalty of his zarovians had been a challenge until he learned, from Lydia, another way Dickcheese had been an asshole. The man had insisted the entire zarovian army sleep outside, in tents, in the cold. When they were reptiles. Reptiles who hated cold. He suspected Xutag had taken particular pleasure in tossing the old lord on the poo pile.
Fortunately, Drake’s new manor was huge, and half of it wasn’t even occupied. The lord before Dickcheese had started a whole wing in the back and never finished it. The unfinished wing wasn’t great for human habitation, but for zarovians? It was perfect... and cozy warm.
In the end, all Drake had to do to convince Cresh and his zarovians to stay and protect the manor was to let them live in it. They now protected the manor of their own free will because it was their home, too. Cresh had also promised to continue to cooperate with Drake’s battle maids in all matters of manor defense, and since he couldn’t lie, Drake trusted him.
Other than that, when he wasn’t helping Lydia finalize all the changes to his manor’s operations, he’d spent every other hour of daylight searching Zuri’s library for some clue as to how he could do something magical. He had to discover his rarity so he could defend himself. There must have been some reason the old lord had thought him worth abducting.
Yet even after trying every experiment he could think of, including some that worried Lydia, he still had no idea what his rarity was. He still had no way to get a message to Earth. And while this manor had plenty of magical items, none of them would be useful in a fight.
In addition to the sexist battle maid healing gloves, his manor possessed gloves that could endure boiling water, summon objects from across a room, and provide light in dark places... but nothing that would stop an assassin from killing him.
As for Sachi and Valentia, there was no news, but Lydia assured him not to worry. Sachi was fast, but it would take even her a full day to travel to Skybreak territory, and days after to track the Redbow ambushers. Then, she would have to come back as well. So it could be days before he heard anything about the fate of his huntress and Valentia, his final battle maid.
In the meantime, Lydia continued to run his manor with very little input on his part. He continued to ease his people into the idea that he wasn’t an asshole. The meals his kitchen served continued to be delicious, his baths continued to be heavenly, and his bed continued to be like a cloud with a dozen pillows on it.
Other than the constant threat of assassination, it was good to be the manor lord.
Olivia delivered his lunch for the third day in a row, which didn’t surprise him—Lydia still insisted he only eat meals prepared in front of his maids which they personally delivered—and he nodded to Olivia to assure her he appreciated her service. He was still trying to find the balance between acting appropriately lord-like and not acting like an entitled prick.
As he ate two sausages wrapped in folded bread—the kitchen staff had done their level best to make “hot dogs”—he pondered his next move. He’d already adjusted his blood pact to not be evil and proven it was possible to run a manor without slavery. So what now?
For the moment, securing his own manor and protecting his “employees” made more sense. As frustrating as it was to admit, it was hubris to think he could immediately change this world and its ancient magical complexities after arriving a few days ago. He knew where hubris had gotten the last lord of Gloomwood. Stabbed by a punk named Clint Eastwood.
He shouldn’t move rashly. He couldn’t get greedy. So he would continue to firm up his own people’s loyalty, discover his rarity, and defend his manor. Once he’d done all that, then he could start making moves. Maybe even alliances. Given his unique ability to lie his ass off in any negotiation, he could likely accomplish a lot with a little creative bullshit.
Finally, after discussion, he and Lydia had agreed they would still allow people who joined the manor to join the blood pact. Given Drake’s adjustments, his blood pact could no longer compel anyone, and it could protect his people from being forced into the blood pacts of other evil manor lords. All of the benefits with none of the slavery.
A loud knock sounded at his door. He doubted his maids would bother him if it wasn’t important, and no one else in the manor seemed confident enough yet to just roll up and knock on his door. He checked over his dark silverweave outfit and found it presentable. “Enter.”
Emily popped her head in the door. “You’ve a visitor, lord.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “Westin?”
“No, lord. A little girl, wisp of a thing with ratty blond hair. She says only Lord Gloomwood can help her save her captive father.”
“Emily, you understand that all sounds suspicious as fuck, right?”
“I love that word! But I’m only informing you out of courtesy, lord. My vote is to simply stick her on a horse and send her riding.”
“To Shadowfort?”
Emily visibly considered. “That’s a much nicer idea than I had, lord.”
One day soon, he was going to need to sit Emily down and have a talk with her about why child murder was bad. “Where is this little lost girl now?”
“We’ve detained her in the lobby. Our zarovians are standing watch over her. Also, Oli is with her as well. Comforting her, for sure, but if it turns out her rarity is shapeshifting murder monster, Oli will make her cinders before she can harm a hair on your head.”
“Is shapeshifting murder monster a rarity? Also, how could she deny that?”
“Never can be too careful, lord. Especially with you.” She beamed at him.
Drake glanced at his recently demolished lunch and mentally debated. What were the chances of some little lost girl wandering out of the woods and asking for him specifically? Next to nothing, given all he’d seen of this world so far. This was obviously a trap.
So how should he handle it?
He could send this lost child to Shadowfort without seeing her, but then what? What if she actually was just some lost little girl, and she got eaten by carnivorous beavers on her way to town? He’d feel just awful, and moreover, he’d never know who sent her.
His new world was all politics, intrigue, and murder, and he needed information to navigate that. Even if the arrival of this little girl was part of some sinister trap hatched by another ruthless manor lord, he was in his manor, on his turf, and prepared. He has his battle maids to fuck up any shapeshifting murder monsters. Might as well take the bet.
Finally, if one lost little girl could demolish his whole army, he was well past fucked already. He should go down swinging. And if this girl was somehow just who she said she was—some little lost waif—maybe he’d get points with the noble court for helping her.
He remembered his vow to Westin to go on some grand crusade to redeem the reputation of Lord Gloomwood. He’d only added it to sell the lies he needed to keep his manor from being razed, but the more he considered the idea, the more he liked it.
He wasn’t going to risk his people for nothing. But anyone he helped could help him in return, and helping people wasn’t just about altruism. It would help him build the strength of the manor and expand his army of newly loyal employees.
“Lord?” Emily prompted. “Shall I send her on her way?”
He’d been thinking too long. “No, I’ll talk to her.” He rose. “I’m the only one who can help her save her captive father. That’s what she said?”
“Just that, lord!”
“So given I just got here four days ago, it seems like my reputation as a doer of good deeds is already spreading far and wide. Unless she’s under the mistaken impression the other guy would help her. In which case, she’s definitely a shapeshifting murder monster.”
“I’ll keep Chopper ready just in case, lord.”
“Attagirl, Emily. Let’s go.”
He followed her out of his private tea room and down what he was now easily able to identify as the lower western hall. The manor had a lot of rooms and multiple hallways, and on the west side, he’d verified earlier today, there were two main hallways.
He’d taken to mentally arranging them as the upper and lower west halls, even though the network of rooms between was much more complex than that. Still, he knew Zuri’s fire hazard was at the end of the lower west hall, and the parlor where he’d taken tea with Lydia was through the second door he passed once he left the lobby and entered the lower west hall.
Moreover, he’d just finished lunch in a room halfway down the upper west hall, and they were heading east now and would cut south through a central hallway with no windows and paintings of the prior lords of Gloomwood to reach the lobby. Sizewise, his manor was about the size of a small shopping mall, just more piled up on top of each other.
He was rapidly learning how to navigate his massive manor. He’d keep exploring, keep memorizing, and improve his navigation skills over the coming days. They reached the wide, grand wooden stairs that would lead from the central hall to the lobby.
He took in the current situation as he strode down the stairs with Emily walking confidently at his side. His two big armored zarovians were standing right by the front manor doors as always, holding spears as tall as he was. He distantly noted both of them were the same pale shade of green, which made them different than the orange and yellow ones that had been there this morning. A shift change had occurred.
Lydia stood in one corner visibly consulting with two other women who looked to be in less ornate maid uniforms, perhaps arranging some manor business. She was still here in the lobby. And what did appear to be a little lost girl—assuming she wasn’t a shapeshifter—had her back to him. The waif wore little more than rags.
Olivia knelt just in front of the girl, smiling warmly, with one hand resting on her visibly bony shoulder. So just touching the little girl wouldn’t kill him. She wasn’t a bomb.
His youngest battle maid straightened as he descended the stairs, smiled up at him, and said something to the little girl. As she pointed, the girl pivoted to stare up at him with wide blue eyes. She had long blond hair that would have looked nice if it weren’t so tangled, a little button nose, and slightly sunken cheeks. Was anyone feeding her?
Drake wasn’t an expert on child ages, but she might not even be ten. How could she harm anyone? Her ragged dress made it clear she was little more than skin and bones, and unless rarities and magic let people add and subtract mass—which he wouldn’t put past weird magic—he saw no way this little girl could take down anyone.
When he finished the stairs, the girl tucked both hands behind her back, pushed her toes in her worn sandals together, and did that waist wiggle thing shy kids always did around strange adults. She was the most convincing shapeshifting murder monster he’d ever seen.
He stopped ten paces away. “I’m Lord Gloomwood. You need my help?”
The little girl gasped. “So it is you! I knew you’d come and help me!”
Drake kept his face neutral. “Why don’t we start with who told you that?”
“The puppet with the emerald eyes, lord. Besides Daddy, he’s my only friend.”
Make that clinically insane shapeshifting murder monster. Drake wasn’t about to get any closer to her. “Time for the interrogation, kid. What’s the name your parents gave you?”
“My father named me Anna, lord.”
“And are you a shapeshifting murder monster?”
She stuck out her lower lip. “I most certainly am not!”
“And you’re certain I’m the only one who can help you free your captive father?”
“Yes, lord!”
“So who’s holding him captive?
“They’re a group of powerful mercenaries. They have Daddy in a cage right now, and if I don’t bring you back with me by tomorrow at sundown, they said they’d chop him up and feed him to the dogs.” At that, her lips quivered.
People in this world couldn’t lie. So this girl was telling the truth, or the truth as she understood it. She might be legit. As he mulled it over, it even started to make sense.
The downside of becoming known as a do-gooder was all sorts of unsavory types would start taking hostages in hopes of drawing him into increasingly ridiculous traps. So if he was going to try to improve his manor’s reputation, he should probably play the do-gooder thing closer to his vest. Maybe not give off the impression he would run out to help just anyone.
“Final question,” Drake said. “Do you have any plans to betray me?”
“I do, lord. Unless you agree to come with me, betraying you is the only way I can save my daddy. I’ll have no choice but to trick and capture you to save him.”
She’d just come out and said it. He also understood why. She was already trapped.
So today, the question was if he’d let this little girl’s father get fed to the dogs.
Three days after he lied to Westin Proudglade, saved his not-quite-dead butler, and freed every last person in the manor from magical compulsion, Drake decided to take a private lunch in a random tea room and just... chill for a bit. He’d been busy.
After a brief debate and some manor-wide soul searching, every single former slave of the prior Lord Gloomwood chose to stay on as an employee. As Drake had hoped, convincing them to stay and defend the manor in which they’d lived the vast majority of their lives wasn’t that hard. Once he offered them the same excellent wage, nice room, and warm food to which they were accustomed without the nasty blood magic slavery, everyone got on board.
The only difference was, now, no one could make them do any evil shit. Most of his staff seemed very grateful for that. Score one for team No Slavery.
Lydia, of course, was the key to making it all work. Everyone in the manor trusted her implicitly, and now, she trusted him. That trust would keep the manor from collapsing until he could convince everyone else here he wasn’t an evil bastard.
Ensuring the loyalty of his zarovians had been a challenge until he learned, from Lydia, another way Dickcheese had been an asshole. The man had insisted the entire zarovian army sleep outside, in tents, in the cold. When they were reptiles. Reptiles who hated cold. He suspected Xutag had taken particular pleasure in tossing the old lord on the poo pile.
Fortunately, Drake’s new manor was huge, and half of it wasn’t even occupied. The lord before Dickcheese had started a whole wing in the back and never finished it. The unfinished wing wasn’t great for human habitation, but for zarovians? It was perfect... and cozy warm.
In the end, all Drake had to do to convince Cresh and his zarovians to stay and protect the manor was to let them live in it. They now protected the manor of their own free will because it was their home, too. Cresh had also promised to continue to cooperate with Drake’s battle maids in all matters of manor defense, and since he couldn’t lie, Drake trusted him.
Other than that, when he wasn’t helping Lydia finalize all the changes to his manor’s operations, he’d spent every other hour of daylight searching Zuri’s library for some clue as to how he could do something magical. He had to discover his rarity so he could defend himself. There must have been some reason the old lord had thought him worth abducting.
Yet even after trying every experiment he could think of, including some that worried Lydia, he still had no idea what his rarity was. He still had no way to get a message to Earth. And while this manor had plenty of magical items, none of them would be useful in a fight.
In addition to the sexist battle maid healing gloves, his manor possessed gloves that could endure boiling water, summon objects from across a room, and provide light in dark places... but nothing that would stop an assassin from killing him.
As for Sachi and Valentia, there was no news, but Lydia assured him not to worry. Sachi was fast, but it would take even her a full day to travel to Skybreak territory, and days after to track the Redbow ambushers. Then, she would have to come back as well. So it could be days before he heard anything about the fate of his huntress and Valentia, his final battle maid.
In the meantime, Lydia continued to run his manor with very little input on his part. He continued to ease his people into the idea that he wasn’t an asshole. The meals his kitchen served continued to be delicious, his baths continued to be heavenly, and his bed continued to be like a cloud with a dozen pillows on it.
Other than the constant threat of assassination, it was good to be the manor lord.
Olivia delivered his lunch for the third day in a row, which didn’t surprise him—Lydia still insisted he only eat meals prepared in front of his maids which they personally delivered—and he nodded to Olivia to assure her he appreciated her service. He was still trying to find the balance between acting appropriately lord-like and not acting like an entitled prick.
As he ate two sausages wrapped in folded bread—the kitchen staff had done their level best to make “hot dogs”—he pondered his next move. He’d already adjusted his blood pact to not be evil and proven it was possible to run a manor without slavery. So what now?
For the moment, securing his own manor and protecting his “employees” made more sense. As frustrating as it was to admit, it was hubris to think he could immediately change this world and its ancient magical complexities after arriving a few days ago. He knew where hubris had gotten the last lord of Gloomwood. Stabbed by a punk named Clint Eastwood.
He shouldn’t move rashly. He couldn’t get greedy. So he would continue to firm up his own people’s loyalty, discover his rarity, and defend his manor. Once he’d done all that, then he could start making moves. Maybe even alliances. Given his unique ability to lie his ass off in any negotiation, he could likely accomplish a lot with a little creative bullshit.
Finally, after discussion, he and Lydia had agreed they would still allow people who joined the manor to join the blood pact. Given Drake’s adjustments, his blood pact could no longer compel anyone, and it could protect his people from being forced into the blood pacts of other evil manor lords. All of the benefits with none of the slavery.
A loud knock sounded at his door. He doubted his maids would bother him if it wasn’t important, and no one else in the manor seemed confident enough yet to just roll up and knock on his door. He checked over his dark silverweave outfit and found it presentable. “Enter.”
Emily popped her head in the door. “You’ve a visitor, lord.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “Westin?”
“No, lord. A little girl, wisp of a thing with ratty blond hair. She says only Lord Gloomwood can help her save her captive father.”
“Emily, you understand that all sounds suspicious as fuck, right?”
“I love that word! But I’m only informing you out of courtesy, lord. My vote is to simply stick her on a horse and send her riding.”
“To Shadowfort?”
Emily visibly considered. “That’s a much nicer idea than I had, lord.”
One day soon, he was going to need to sit Emily down and have a talk with her about why child murder was bad. “Where is this little lost girl now?”
“We’ve detained her in the lobby. Our zarovians are standing watch over her. Also, Oli is with her as well. Comforting her, for sure, but if it turns out her rarity is shapeshifting murder monster, Oli will make her cinders before she can harm a hair on your head.”
“Is shapeshifting murder monster a rarity? Also, how could she deny that?”
“Never can be too careful, lord. Especially with you.” She beamed at him.
Drake glanced at his recently demolished lunch and mentally debated. What were the chances of some little lost girl wandering out of the woods and asking for him specifically? Next to nothing, given all he’d seen of this world so far. This was obviously a trap.
So how should he handle it?
He could send this lost child to Shadowfort without seeing her, but then what? What if she actually was just some lost little girl, and she got eaten by carnivorous beavers on her way to town? He’d feel just awful, and moreover, he’d never know who sent her.
His new world was all politics, intrigue, and murder, and he needed information to navigate that. Even if the arrival of this little girl was part of some sinister trap hatched by another ruthless manor lord, he was in his manor, on his turf, and prepared. He has his battle maids to fuck up any shapeshifting murder monsters. Might as well take the bet.
Finally, if one lost little girl could demolish his whole army, he was well past fucked already. He should go down swinging. And if this girl was somehow just who she said she was—some little lost waif—maybe he’d get points with the noble court for helping her.
He remembered his vow to Westin to go on some grand crusade to redeem the reputation of Lord Gloomwood. He’d only added it to sell the lies he needed to keep his manor from being razed, but the more he considered the idea, the more he liked it.
He wasn’t going to risk his people for nothing. But anyone he helped could help him in return, and helping people wasn’t just about altruism. It would help him build the strength of the manor and expand his army of newly loyal employees.
“Lord?” Emily prompted. “Shall I send her on her way?”
He’d been thinking too long. “No, I’ll talk to her.” He rose. “I’m the only one who can help her save her captive father. That’s what she said?”
“Just that, lord!”
“So given I just got here four days ago, it seems like my reputation as a doer of good deeds is already spreading far and wide. Unless she’s under the mistaken impression the other guy would help her. In which case, she’s definitely a shapeshifting murder monster.”
“I’ll keep Chopper ready just in case, lord.”
“Attagirl, Emily. Let’s go.”
He followed her out of his private tea room and down what he was now easily able to identify as the lower western hall. The manor had a lot of rooms and multiple hallways, and on the west side, he’d verified earlier today, there were two main hallways.
He’d taken to mentally arranging them as the upper and lower west halls, even though the network of rooms between was much more complex than that. Still, he knew Zuri’s fire hazard was at the end of the lower west hall, and the parlor where he’d taken tea with Lydia was through the second door he passed once he left the lobby and entered the lower west hall.
Moreover, he’d just finished lunch in a room halfway down the upper west hall, and they were heading east now and would cut south through a central hallway with no windows and paintings of the prior lords of Gloomwood to reach the lobby. Sizewise, his manor was about the size of a small shopping mall, just more piled up on top of each other.
He was rapidly learning how to navigate his massive manor. He’d keep exploring, keep memorizing, and improve his navigation skills over the coming days. They reached the wide, grand wooden stairs that would lead from the central hall to the lobby.
He took in the current situation as he strode down the stairs with Emily walking confidently at his side. His two big armored zarovians were standing right by the front manor doors as always, holding spears as tall as he was. He distantly noted both of them were the same pale shade of green, which made them different than the orange and yellow ones that had been there this morning. A shift change had occurred.
Lydia stood in one corner visibly consulting with two other women who looked to be in less ornate maid uniforms, perhaps arranging some manor business. She was still here in the lobby. And what did appear to be a little lost girl—assuming she wasn’t a shapeshifter—had her back to him. The waif wore little more than rags.
Olivia knelt just in front of the girl, smiling warmly, with one hand resting on her visibly bony shoulder. So just touching the little girl wouldn’t kill him. She wasn’t a bomb.
His youngest battle maid straightened as he descended the stairs, smiled up at him, and said something to the little girl. As she pointed, the girl pivoted to stare up at him with wide blue eyes. She had long blond hair that would have looked nice if it weren’t so tangled, a little button nose, and slightly sunken cheeks. Was anyone feeding her?
Drake wasn’t an expert on child ages, but she might not even be ten. How could she harm anyone? Her ragged dress made it clear she was little more than skin and bones, and unless rarities and magic let people add and subtract mass—which he wouldn’t put past weird magic—he saw no way this little girl could take down anyone.
When he finished the stairs, the girl tucked both hands behind her back, pushed her toes in her worn sandals together, and did that waist wiggle thing shy kids always did around strange adults. She was the most convincing shapeshifting murder monster he’d ever seen.
He stopped ten paces away. “I’m Lord Gloomwood. You need my help?”
The little girl gasped. “So it is you! I knew you’d come and help me!”
Drake kept his face neutral. “Why don’t we start with who told you that?”
“The puppet with the emerald eyes, lord. Besides Daddy, he’s my only friend.”
Make that clinically insane shapeshifting murder monster. Drake wasn’t about to get any closer to her. “Time for the interrogation, kid. What’s the name your parents gave you?”
“My father named me Anna, lord.”
“And are you a shapeshifting murder monster?”
She stuck out her lower lip. “I most certainly am not!”
“And you’re certain I’m the only one who can help you free your captive father?”
“Yes, lord!”
“So who’s holding him captive?
“They’re a group of powerful mercenaries. They have Daddy in a cage right now, and if I don’t bring you back with me by tomorrow at sundown, they said they’d chop him up and feed him to the dogs.” At that, her lips quivered.
People in this world couldn’t lie. So this girl was telling the truth, or the truth as she understood it. She might be legit. As he mulled it over, it even started to make sense.
The downside of becoming known as a do-gooder was all sorts of unsavory types would start taking hostages in hopes of drawing him into increasingly ridiculous traps. So if he was going to try to improve his manor’s reputation, he should probably play the do-gooder thing closer to his vest. Maybe not give off the impression he would run out to help just anyone.
“Final question,” Drake said. “Do you have any plans to betray me?”
“I do, lord. Unless you agree to come with me, betraying you is the only way I can save my daddy. I’ll have no choice but to trick and capture you to save him.”
She’d just come out and said it. He also understood why. She was already trapped.
So today, the question was if he’d let this little girl’s father get fed to the dogs.
