Noble Arcana

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Victor Morrow’s Journal

Solomon blinked his eyes, stepping backward, and saw the shadowy shape disappear from the window. He looked at it for a few more moments. There was only a bit of light left in the day, and the rain made things even darker. Had he just been seeing things? Or was there someone there? A squatter perhaps?

He steeled himself and began walking back down the hall. He decided not to call for help. The only ones that could assist him were women, a one-handed man, a few boys barely starting manhood, and an old man. Besides, they were his responsibility.

He kept walking down the hall, but stopped. There seemed to be something off with the wall between the windows. He took the lighter from his coat and lit it to take a closer look. It was a scorchmark. A blackened circle on the wall. He looked around it and saw that a few feet further there was a rend in the ground, two or three inches deep into the wood floor, revealing stone beneath. Further than that was a strange scorchmark that looked almost like a tree’s roots on a nearby wall, and past that were more rents, and even a few large dark brown stains. He wasn’t sure, but he believed they must’ve been blood.

He reached the door to the tower. It was a double door with one of the doors having been blown completely off its hinges, and the other seemingly sliced perfectly in half. He walked inside to see that the tower was a library. There were at least three levels of it, with bookshelves all wrapping completely around each level. In the center of the bottom floor, was a bare desk, or at least the remnants of a desk, as half of it seemed to have been carved away in a perfect crescent and was missing. The library in general was in ruins, with destroyed books littering all three floors, broken shelves, and the ceiling looking to have been damaged by smoke.

Solomon felt a tinge of sadness. So much knowledge was destroyed, not to mention the hard work some scribe had done to bind those pages, many of which appeared to have been hand written based on the scraps of paper that had seemed to survive in places.

He heard a creak and quickly turned toward the sound, remembering why he’d chosen to search the tower to begin with. Against the far wall he saw an empty suit of armor. He approached it carefully, stepping over what piles of books and paper he could and resigning himself to stepping on what he couldn’t. He eventually reached the suit of armor and, hesitating for just a moment, he knocked on it two times. The sound rang out as hollow.

He let out a breath, and carefully lifted up the visor on the armor’s helmet, seeing nothing but darkness inside. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the rest of the library. He climbed up the stairs to check each floor and found nothing but destroyed books, accidentally pushing some down to the bottom floor as he walked through them. When he was satisfied he made his way back down.

No longer concerned that there may be someone in the tower, his mind turned to the state of it, and the hallway that led to it, as he walked back down to the bottom floor. What in the hells had happened? It looked like an explosion of knives and fire had torn their way through everything. He realized that he’d never questioned how his great uncle had died. He’d assumed it had been due to his advanced age, but had it actually been violent? If it had he couldn’t imagine his father not taking issue with it, or the rest of the nobility for that matter. If even the most minor of nobles was killed the ranks were closed and the perpetrator killed. Unless of course, it was part of the grand game they all played against one another, but as far as he knew Victor had never been a part of that. He’d have to investigate.

This text was taken from NovelFire. Help the author by reading the original version there.

As to how the damage had been made, the only answer he could think of was… magic. That didn’t make sense though. The Union was in control of every mage in Drakthiss. They had no motive to attack his Uncle, and doing so would be a dangerous thing to do considering the delicate balance between the Union and the nobility. Especially with the new rail project the Union had been working with the King and Parliament on around the time Victor had died. That very rail project had played a big role in his desires for the estate and surrounding territory, so the dates and sessions around it were thoroughly entombed within Solomon’s mind.

He reached the bottom floor, taking one more glance around at everything. He’d have to dig through everything, perhaps himself. If there was some evidence of what had happened mixed among all of the books and paper it could be dangerous for the servants to find it.

He walked back out into the hall, running into Melissa who startled a bit when she saw him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

“It’s no problem sir, I was just looking to see if I could find some more oil.”

“It’s a mess in there, don’t bother looking. In fact, tell the other servants to stay out of this section for now.”

She curtsied and they both walked back into the main room together, where it seemed that the majority of staff had gathered around a now roaring fireplace. They stood as he arrived.

He held up a hand. “It’s fine. I know you’re all tired from your travels. While I expect a certain amount of formality here, you don’t need to stand on quite as much ceremony as you did back at the Morrow Estate.”

They didn’t really acknowledge what he said, but a few slowly sat back down.

“Barnabus, what’s the state of the living quarters?”

Barnabus stood up, hiding the stub of his hand within his jacket, a habit Solomon had noticed on their first meeting.

“Not bad. Some of the older furniture in the servant quarters needs replaced, but the beds are still good. One of the fireplaces in that part of the house has a bat problem, but we should be able to take care of it ourselves. Master suite is immaculate, as are the other bedrooms. Claire said the kitchen needs a good scrub, but is otherwise okay.”

“Excellent news,” said Solomon with a smile that hid the bad concern in his gut. How in the world was the estate not falling apart? A manor of this size having been empty for more than five years should’ve been in far more disarray.

“Tomorrow afternoon I’m going to head into town. Any of you that would like to join me may do so. I’m going to give you your first month’s pay in the morning so that you can do any shopping for necessities as needed.” He also had a list from Claire and Barnabus for food and materials they’d need as well as several other necessities he’d gathered from the others that he intended to buy himself.

There were smiles and nods from them. They hadn’t expected early pay.

“Barnabus, if you wouldn’t mind showing me to the master’s quarters?”

“Of course sir,” he said, nodding as he began walking toward the hall. It was well lit by lanterns and he got a better look at things. Everything was as plain in the halls as it had been in the atrium and sitting room. Barnabus eventually led him to the master suite, which was at the end of a long hallway, and opened the door with his good hand and a bow.

“Thanks Barnabus. Please have Claire bring dinner to my room.”

He nodded and walked back to where the others were. Solomon took a deep breath and looked around the room. It was simple, with a small canopied bed, a desk with a stack of paper, old quills and inkpots, and a large rug. The fireplace in the corner was burning hot, and two of Solomon’s bags had already been unpacked with clothes for the next few days already placed in the closet, the purple he favored standing out starkly with some of his uncle’s old clothes that seemed to favor black and green. The only real piece of decoration was a stone figure in the corner. It was humanoid, wearing a cloak that had been carved with such care that the stone it was made of looked like cloth. Its face was obscured and in one hand it was holding a walking stick that he realized was real, not stone.

He walked over to it and reached out for it, taking it from the statue. It was a fine piece of black wood, with a straight silver and gold handle. The balance was excellent, and after taking a few steps with it, it seemed to be nearly perfectly his size. Perhaps uncle Victor was as long and lean as he was. He gave it a twirl before setting it carefully back in the statue’s hand.