I shall now summarize my week and looking at the rest of April.
AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Got that? Now that I have that out of the way, to the story! (0h, and Duke Dawson's first name is now Louis, not Richard. And it's spelled Grelend, not Genlend. Sorry for the confusion)
*************
Abigail stared at the young nobleman, shocked. When she had told Thomas that he had to visit his home, he was surprisingly angry about it. She had known there was some sort of tension in the Dawson estate, but she just thought it was because Duke Louis was a bit too strict on his household. Her Jonathan didn’t explain why he let the duke’s youngest son join the spy network; she just suspected it was because Louis did not approve of his son’s inventing talent that often led to things exploding. This was not a development she had been expecting.
“Drunk?” she asked.
“Yes,” Thomas grumbled. “Drunk. As drunk as any man can get.”
There was another crash from above. Suddenly a door slammed and a crying woman came running down the stairs. Abigail gasped as she recognized the woman. It had been almost fifteen years since she last saw her.
“Nikki?” she asked, surprised to see her childhood friend. Nikki stopped at the base of the stairs, her pale blue eyes wide. Her blonde hair was in disarray and her dress hanging off her slim shoulders. Her cheek was bright red.
“Abby,” she whispered, quickly covering her cheek. She seemed at a loss of words for a moment. “Hello… Um. I wasn’t… I mean, we weren’t expecting you.”
Abigail stared at her friend, shocked. Turning to Thomas, the young man wouldn’t meet her eyes. The queen had wanted this to be a joyful reunion, a father who would be proud to receive his son again. But this… She turned again to Nikki. Her friend chuckled weakly.
“I’m sorry we can’t receive you properly,” she said, trying to fix her hair with her other hand. “It’s just been…”
“Mother,” Thomas moaned, “don’t lie.”
Nikki turned to him. “Thomas,” she said, her hand dropping from her cheek to her chest, obviously shocked. “You’re here. Welcome home.” She walked over and gave the young man a hug; it was awkward and stiffly received.
“She doesn’t look like his mother,” the queen overheard Luke remark to Martin.
“She’s his stepmother,” the Alex explained. Of those in the convoy, Martin was the only one who seemed to understand what was happening. Did Thomas tell him that his father was a drunk?
“You missed your brother’s funeral,” Nikki said, stepping back from her stepson. Thomas glanced away, his face hardening.
“He shouldn’t have joined the army and left us in this mess.”
“Thomas!” Nikki exclaimed, shocked. “He was your brother! Even Maggie came to the funeral.”
“Bet that pa didn’t like that,” Thomas snorted. Suddenly, he looked embarrassed. “How is she?”
“Maggie is expecting,” Nikki said, genuinely smiling. “It won’t be long before you’re an uncle.” Thomas nodded, as if he had been expecting it. Truly, a lot of nobles had expected Louis’s daughter to have been pregnant before this. The duke had disowned his daughter when she decided to marry a commoner rather than the man he had picked for her. It had been scandalous news and none of the Dawson house had been seen since the forbidden wedding. But according to the queen’s sources, Maggie was living happily as a farmer’s wife.
One son dead and the only daughter disinherited, the queen considered, glancing up at the ceiling.
Thomas is the only Dawson left. She had wondered why all the Dawson children left the estate as quickly as possible, again dismissing it as a strict father unknowingly pushing his children away, but what she had overheard in the last couple minutes proved more disturbing.
“How long?” Abigail asked.
“How long what?” Nikki asked nervously. The red mark on her cheek was bruising.
“How long has he been a drunk?” the queen asked. Try as she might, she could not keep the heat out of her voice. Nikki flinched at her tone and looked down without answering.
“Before he even married her,” Thomas answered for her, his voice full of bitterness. “It was right after grandpa and ma died in that riding accident. Pa always liked his drink, but when they died he went deep to find an escape from the responsibility and pain.” Abigail stared at the young man. That long?
“And you married him?” she asked Nikki. In their youth, Nikki was one of the sweetest girls she knew; the queen doubted anyone could call Nikki an enemy.
“I promised his mother I would,” Nikki whispered, glancing briefly at Thomas. “I promised her that I wouldn’t let her kids go without a mother. Thomas was only a child, not even five. Besides… Louis is a nice man when he isn’t drunk.”
Thomas snorted. “If there’s a time he isn’t drunk.”
“Thomas!” Nikki cried, horrified.
“It’s the truth!” Thomas snapped. He pointed to the ceiling. “It’s gotten worse and you know it! How many of
your bones has he broken?”
“Broken bones?” Abigail asked, horrified. She had known when Jonathan let Thomas join the spy network that the young noble had a broken arm, but she thought it was due to one of his experiments going wrong. Nikki flinched again.
“Not many,” she forced out. “He’s usually too drunk to aim right. He doesn’t give more than a bruise or a scratch these days.”
Abigail rubbed her temple, stunned from what she was hearing. One of Aeterna’s nobles, someone she and Jonathan respected, had descended to the level of an abusive monster.
“That’s it,” the queen snapped, stopping the bickering between Thomas and Nikki. “I’m going to end this.” She stomped up the stairs. Her entourage was stunned for a moment before following after her. Martin was the first to catch up.
“Your Majesty,” he said, getting ahead of her and stopping her before she got to the top of the stairs. “That man isn’t stable. Barging in there might result in you coming out with a black eye.”
“I will not stand aside while he abuses his household,” Abigail growled. “Let me pass.”
Martin matched her gaze, his somehow more powerful than her resolve. She tried to keep eye contact, but the Alex was not intimidated. Before she could break her gaze away, the young man snorted; as if he knew he won the silent fight. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t,” he said softly, “I’m just asking that you let us in first.”
Oh, you’re clever, Martin, she thought, relieved she hadn’t broken her gaze. The young Alex was right. Louis was not in any condition to receive anyone, not even an outraged monarch. However, he also knew her responsibility to protect the Dawson family. “Very well,” she said, trying to regain the authority he had taken from her. “Secure the duke for my arrival.”
Martin nodded. Motioning for Luke, the two spies approached a door they had heard the crash come from. They didn’t bother knocking; Martin just opened the door and they rushed in.
“Who are you?” Louis’s slurred speech demanded. “Where’s my liquor? Hey! What are you doin’?” The sound of a struggle followed by grunts was enough for Abigail to reason that the two spies had managed to restrain the duke. Taking a deep breath, she stormed into the room.
Immediately the smell hit her. It seemed as if no one had bothered to change the chamber pot in weeks and the one using it had a case of diarrhea. Quickly covering her mouth and nose with a handkerchief, she looked around for the duke. It wasn’t difficult. Duke Louis Dawson sat on a large bed, struggling against the hold of the two stronger youths with no positive results. It was obvious he was Thomas’s father, by the dark hair and same face, but the duke was taller and had a large pot gut. Her eyes adjusting to the dim room, she noticed the effects of his destructive habit. The duke had a sickly yellow cast to his skin. She flinched when his eyes finally found her. There wasn’t any white; those eyes had the same yellow color as his skin.
“Your Grace,” she said coldly. No matter how sick the duke looked, she could not forget the pain she saw in Nikki and Thomas.
“Who are you?” Louis demanded to know, glaring. “A new serving wretch? Put the tissue away. The smell is not that bad!” Luke tightened his grip on the duke, causing the drunk to recoil.
“I’d be careful,” said the tall spy in a cold tone. “You’re speaking to your queen. And she’s not happy with you.”
“Queen?” the duke asked, glancing again at her, but his eyes found someone else behind her. “Nikki!” he yelled. “You let the queen into this pigsty? When I get a hold of you!”
“You won’t be getting a hold of her,” Abigail snapped. She stood tall and firm; this man had been a monster long enough. “I came here when news reached me that your heir had died.”
“Told him that he shouldn’t have gone,” Louis spat, muttering to himself. “The boy was a fool for thinking he could make a difference.”
“He was no fool,” she growled. “He was a brave man, and a better one than you.” She glanced back. Nikki had retreated to the shadows, cowering from her husband’s rage. Thomas stood in the doorway, apparently too appalled to enter the room. “With the death of your son,” she went on, walking to the door and dragging Thomas in, “I have brought the only child you’ve left to rule after you.”
Louis narrowed his eyes, his face darkening. “You!” He spat at his son’s feet. “I thought you were gone for good. Go back to your little petty experiments with the spies. They’re obviously the only ones who can handle your explosive habit!” Thomas actually flinched and looked away. No matter how much Thomas hated the duke, Louis was still his father.
“You are obviously the one who can’t handle anything,” Abigail said darkly. “So, I am going to use my authority and name Thomas your heir myself.” The duke tried to get up, but the two spies held him down. He glared at them.
“The boy left us,” he growled. “Should have disowned him.”
Abigail heard enough. The duke was far too drunk to make any decision. “You have no more authority,” she snapped at him. “Your wife will take care of managing your estate until Thomas is ready to come back. He’s the duke now.” Without waiting for a reply, she left the room, pulling the young duke after her. Following her example, Nikki, Luke, and Martin followed her, leaving the former duke alone. Martin had just shut the door when something crashed against it.
“You can’t do this to me!” Louis screamed. “I’m the duke! I am still in charge.”
“He’s not going to be easy to live with,” Thomas sighed, staring at the door. His expression was depressed as he thought about living with his disgruntled father.
“Oh, you’re not staying here,” Abigail told him. The young man frowned.
“What?”
“You know where we’re going and why,” she said cryptically. “There are some bad habits I have to cure you of first before you begin your duties. Until then, I’m sure Nikki can take care of things.” She turned to her childhood friend with a smile. Nikki smiled back nervously.
“You don’t have long to break his habits,” she said softly.
Abigail frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The duke is dying,” Martin answered. Everyone turned to him, surprised. He shrugged off their stares. “I’ve seen it before. Anyone in that condition is close to death.”
“He’s right,” Nikki confirmed. “A healer examined him last week. Louis has perhaps another six months to live, a year if he’s lucky. But he is dying.”
Abigail rubbed her temples. This was just getting better and better. “My command still stands,” she said. “Thomas is the Duke of Dawson.”
*********
Martin kept a close eye on Thomas the days after they left the Dawson estate. After Abigail had gone through the legal motions of naming Thomas the duke before the staff of the castle, she had given strict instructions of what to do about Louis. He was confined to his rooms, would only be visited by those willing, and his meals to be left just inside the door. It wasn’t Martin’s imagination that the staff gave a sigh of relief at the news.
“I can’t believe you knew,” Luke grumbled. Martin glanced at his friend, not surprised by the tall assassin’s sour mood. Just as suddenly as they had arrived at the Dawson castle, they left. They couldn’t have been there more than a few hours. Once they had returned to the rest of the convoy, Abigail announced Thomas as the duke and that Luke was actually his servant. Luke wasn’t happy about the change of plans.
“All this time we’ve known each other,” Luke went on, “neither of you thought it important enough to tell me that you were the runaway Dawson.”
Thomas stared at the back of his horse’s head, ashamed. “I didn’t want to tell anyone. At the time, there wasn’t a possibility that I would be the duke. Martin only found out because Fred told him, and he promised not to say anything.”
“Great,” Luke grumbled. “I’m surrounded by nobles who don’t want to be known.” He glared at them. “What am I supposed to do when both of you have to take up your responsibilities?”
“Well,” Martin said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “After I leave, Suit will be without someone to take his place. Perhaps you should become the Spy Master.”
“Give me responsibility?” Luke asked in mock horror. “I have my reputation as a troublemaker to uphold! Any responsibility will destroy my image!”
They all burst into laughter; even Thomas. The farther they got from the Dawson castle, the more Thomas returned to his normal carefree self.
“What’s so funny?”
Martin turned on his saddle to see Sona riding up to them. He returned the smile she gave him. “Luke refuses to grow up,” he answered as she rode beside him. “He wants to stay young forever.”
“Think about it,” Luke argued. “Responsibility makes people get old. Therefore, if I don’t take on any responsibility, I will stay a young troublemaker forever!”
“If that’s true,” Sona mused, “then why are you almost twenty? What sort of responsibility have you taken on that we haven’t noticed?” Martin and Thomas laughed at her logic.
“Well,” Luke said, holding his head high, “I didn’t want to be a five year old forever. I had taken on enough responsibility to get me to this age. I like to be this age.”
Sona laughed. “Alright, you have a point.” She glanced back in the direction she had come. “I didn’t come here for idle chatter, I’m afraid. The queen wants all three of you to be part of the receiving party.”
“Receiving party?” Thomas asked. “Don’t tell me we’ve already reached Grelend’s estate.”
“Petra says that it’s just over the hill,” she said, pointing to the hill. “She wants the Duke of Dawson, his servant, Ghost Eighty One, who is on the list, and myself present.”
“Wonderful,” Martin muttered. “The spies are going to be announced with banners and trumpets. What a way to be discrete.” Despite his grumbling, he led the way to the center of the convoy where Queen Abigail was still riding in her carriage. Commander Petra greeted them as they approached.
“Here’s the plan,” he said, “Martin and Luke will ride on either side of the carriage. His Grace and Sona will ride in the carriage with the queen. Someone will take care of your horses for you.”
“Lucky us,” Luke said to Martin. “We don’t have to ride in that stuffy old carriage.” Martin couldn’t tell if his friend was being sarcastic or not.
“Just do your part, Cousin,” Petra warned as Thomas and Sona dismounted. Guards came and took their horses away. “You’re supposed to be a servant; not a friend.”
Luke snorted. “You’re just trying to make me older.” Spurring his horse, he went around to the other side of carriage. Petra frowned.
“What was that about?” he asked them. Sona just laughed and climbed into the carriage, a depressed Thomas following her. When the commander turned to him, Martin just shrugged.
“You know your cousin,” he remarked. “Trouble is his life.”
Petra sighed. “I know.” A horn blared. Looking up the hill, Martin saw a small party of ten waiting. “Ah,” the commander said, taking his place at the head of the carriage escort. “The welcoming committee. Let’s head out!”
The small escort broke out of the convoy and raced to meet the other party on the top of the hill. Greetings were exchanged and they were on the move again. As he was used to, the other party kept shooting glances at the carriage, their eyes passing right by him. That was just fine; he wasn’t their prince yet.
Looking down the hill, he saw the Grelend Estate. It was much as he heard it was like. Mostly flatland, the mansion of Grelend stood on the only hill. Unlike the Dawson Castle, the mansion was had no tall stone walls erected around it. Instead, it had a short wall any man on a horse could look over. A small city surrounded one side of the mansion. It was hardly the place Martin would have figured anyone would try to train -and protect- their future princes. However, there was one comfort.
There was a large field on the other side of the mansion. During times of peace, there were many merchant festivals held there; many of the festivals world renown. However, instead of filled of entertainers, merchants, and buyers, the field was occupied by one of the largest army camps Martin had ever seen. Taking a closer look, he realized with a start that the camp actually surrounded the city and mansion. He was reluctantly impressed of the protection the queen’s council had thought to give the possible princes.
They kept their quick pace through the guards of the surrounding army and city. People lined the streets, cheering as the queen’s carriage passed. Martin kept a wary eye on the crowd; crowds always made him nervous. Too many people who could mean harm. The queen, however, showed no concern at all as she waved to the crowd from the window. The people only cheered louder.
Finally they reached the gates of the mansion. Several official looking people stood just inside the gate and waited for their party to pass through. The guards quickly closed the gate as soon as they entered, cutting the noise of the crowd to a dull roar. Martin dismounted and waited for someone to direct him of where to go.
The foremost person among the officials, a man in his fifties with a completely bald head, round gut, and dressed in so many feathers he seemed more like a bird than a noble, opened the carriage door with a flourish. “Your Majesty!” he exclaimed, bowing low as Abigail stepped out of the carriage. “We are honored to have your presence among us!”
“Thank you, Lord Grelend,” Abigail said, nodding her head to the noble. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for housing so many…” Her eyes found Martin and she smirked, “interesting men.” Martin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Yes, he was an interesting character, but he rather not have anyone look too closely into his past.
“Whatever I can do to help find the prince, I am more than willing to do,” Grelend announced, beaming. It was then when he noticed Sona step out of the carriage. “And who is this fine young lady?” he asked, bowing to the researcher. To Martin’s amusement, Sona actually blushed.
“This is Sona Merette,” the queen introduced. “She is the researcher responsible for creating the List.”
“My pleasure to meet you!” Grelend said, bowing even lower. He straitened with a smile. “I did not know the queen had employed such a beauty for such a dusty job.” Sona’s embarrassment vanished quickly under an expression of annoyance.
“My research is not dusty,” she said in a neutral tone, though Martin could detect the flash of anger in her eyes. “It is important. No one would be here without my research.” Grelend apparently caught on quickly that he had said the wrong thing.
“I apologize if I offended,” he said, flashing another grin. “I am just too used to researchers being frail old men.” Sona forced a smile in return. She was saved from replying as Thomas climbed out as well. Grelend frowned for a moment before he finally placed his face.
“Dawson,” he said, surprised. “You’re Louis’s youngest? Thomas, right?” Thomas just shrugged.
“He is,” Abigail answered for him, giving the young noble a telling glare at his behavior. “But he is Duke Thomas now.” Somehow Grelend gave a deeper bow.
“We are even more honored to also have his Grace here as well!” Thomas looked sick at the admiration Grelend was giving him.
“Is everything as I have asked?” the queen asked, returning the lord’s attention to her and not on the two youths he had just put off ease.
“Yes,” he answered, grinning. “There are teachers already holding classes to instruct the young men in the basics. Guards and soldiers are providing the best protection. I’ve even employed more staff to take care of the young men!” Abigail nodded absently at the lord’s inane chatter. “Oh,” he went on, oblivious to his queen’s inattentiveness, “and nearly all the young men on the list are already here! The only one missing is Ghost Eighty One.”
Abigail turned to the lord, smiling. “Well then,” she said, pleased, “then all of them are here. I brought the Ghost with me.”
Grelend whipped around and quickly searched the party that escorted the queen. His eyes quickly passed Martin and stared at Luke, who was looking bored. “Ghost!” he exclaimed, approaching the tall spy with a smile and handshake. “It is another honor for you to be here!”
Luke quickly pulled his hand out of the lord’s, acting as if it had been a snake. “I’m not the Ghost,” he said quickly, pointing to Martin. “He is.” Grelend turned around again, surprise flittering across his face. Martin knew what the lord was seeing. A commoner dressed in dusty clothes. He was nothing that stood out.
“Truly?” Grelend asked, looking at the queen for reassurance.
“Yes,” Abigail chuckled. She gestured for Martin to join her. Sighing, he walked over, leading Rowan behind him. “Lord Grelend, allow me to introduce you to Martin Stevens, Ghost Eighty One.” Martin bowed slightly to the feather dressed lord. Grelend took a moment to recover from his shock before springing into action again and shaking his hand vigorously.
“An honor, Ghost!” he said, beaming. “A true honor.” Martin managed to just smile. Did the lord think any visitor was an honor? Releasing his hand, Grelend snapped his fingers and a servant came running. “It is nearly lunchtime, Ghost. You are invited to sit with myself and the queen at the high table. Afterwards, I’ll have Mistress Sargent show you to your assigned place.”
Martin glanced at Abigail, who was rolling her eyes. Her orders to him were to spy on the possible princes, not on the talkative lord. “I must decline,” he said. “I am not yet a prince. It would be unfair for me to sit next to the queen when the rest of the listed men are not at the high table as well.”
Grelend laughed, giving Martin a slap on the shoulder. “Oh, ever a diplomat I see! Very well, eat with the others.” The servant he had summoned still stood there, looking a bit lost on what he was supposed to do. “Oh, Sean here will take care of your horse for you.” Martin glanced at the servant, a bit hesitant before handing Rowan’s reigns over. He had expected him to take care of his horse. Before the servant took his horse away, however, he took his pack off and shouldered it comfortably onto his back. The lord frowned questioningly at it but said nothing.
“Well then!” Grelend exclaimed, throwing his arms dramatically into the air. “On to lunch!”
*********
There it is. An awkward conversation with Thomas's father (I had a hard time writing it) and the arrival to Grelend's lands. Next post should be interesting because I'm introducing a character who is... interesting. That's all I'm saying about him.
Anyway, I must warn you about the "Arg" moment at the beginning of the post. April
is a busy month for me, what with it being close to finals, and major projects due, and trying to figure out how to get to Purdue (I want to drive, but not by myself. Don't want to fly myself either), and and and and.... This might the last post for April. I'll try to get something up but, please, don't hold your breath. I don't think anyone can survive until May without air.
Hoping for some writing time, enjoy the journey!
