Noble Arcana

There is nothing worse than being forced to stay in a town. A hamlet can be charming, a village can feel like one is roughing it, and a city can be filled with more delights than you can imagine. A town though is a dreadful thing. Capable of meeting your necessities and nothing else.

Lady Arbessa in a letter to the Dowager Terese

Solomon spent the morning going through the scraps of paper piece by piece and organizing it into piles to be collected and disposed of. He had a pile for the paper, a pile for the covers, and a pile for the bits of furniture that had been destroyed. Doing it exhausted him. He was not used to physical labor and had never enjoyed spending time riding and hunting like his brothers. Still, he was insistent on doing it himself. Finding that grimoire was dangerous, as was holding it. If there was any more indication of magic among the torn and shredded library he needed to be the one to find it. His name could protect him from imprisonment, interrogation, or execution, but his servants would be in danger if they stumbled onto something they shouldn’t.

He made up for his lack of physical prowess with the ability to quickly analyze each shred of paper. A single glance could confirm or deny their contents and so he was able to sort and place them easily. As he’d thought when he first came upon the library, most of the books were common texts. Simple, popular, and easy to obtain. Nothing esoteric or bizarre. Unfortunately, that only made him more suspicious.

He’d done another scan of the grimoire, avoiding the spell descriptions and instead focusing on the many tangents in the margins and in the paragraphs between spells. While he never mentioned his own name, it was very clear to Solomon that the author of it had been his great uncle. There were mentions of parts of the family estate, connections, and items that only someone very familiar with their family would be able to place. Between that and the mention of historical events in the family’s history that corresponded with when Victor would’ve been alive and around and it was all very clear.

If Victor had such an interest in the occult, in magic and secrets, why would he have collected so many common tomes? Solomon guessed that they were a cover. If that guess was right then it was highly likely that there were caches of knowledge stored elsewhere in the manor. It also raised the question of why this particular book had been placed where it was. With the grimoire in hand he was now certain that the damage to this part of the manor was caused by magic. Possibly someone looking for whatever secrets his uncle was hiding. Why wouldn’t they have taken this tome?

He sighed and wiped his brow. He had many questions, and a few theories, but no answers. It seemed he had forged his way into inheriting a minefield. If the Union discovered that his Uncle had studied magic in secret, the manor would be torn to shreds, particularly given the evidence of spellcraft causing destruction in the hall. He would immediately be wrapped up in it as well and it would give his brothers an excuse to try to seize the assets he’d managed to gain for himself. He’d have to destroy all of the evidence, hide it, and make sure to find anything else in the manor before the servants did.

Or…

He went over to pick up the walking stick, leaning against the shelves and pressing the cool metal of its head against his chin, a chill started to settle over him.

Or he may find something he could use. How much more quickly could he gather power with some magical assistance? His goals had been limited by practicality. Own property, acquire as many draks as possible, improve things for those citizens he could, try to gain a seat on the parliament, make what measured changes he could. With magic though, what was the point of practicality? He could help his sister break her betrothal, take his brother’s place as head of the Morrow name, lead the parliament, end primogeniture, force the nobility to remember what its responsibilities are.

He tapped the cane twice against the floor and shook his head. All he had in his pocket were remedies for warts and spells for sweet dreams. He was getting well past what the real possibilities were. At best he may be able to sell the grimoire to one of those occult clubs that were scattered around, or trade it for a favor. Even if he found some vast reservoir of knowledge his Uncle had stored away he didn’t have mana. That special reservoir of power that so few were born with.

He slipped his coat back on and walked out of the room. He still needed to finish sorting through the scraps, but he’d promised to take the servants into the town and pay them early and he still intended to do so. He’d already had a brief conversation with Duncan and Bart about restoring the hall and what materials they would need. He made his way back to his room, and slid the grimoire into a drawer that he locked. He then gathered his correspondence and other materials.

The servants waited for him at the manor entrance where the carriage and wagon had already been prepared for everyone. He went to each of the servants and handed them small envelopes with their first month’s pay. Many of them had trouble hiding their smiles. Felicity flinched a little at taking hers, but even she had wide eyes when she felt the weight of it.

He climbed into his carriage and within moments they were moving to Moonfallow. In the brightness of the afternoon he was able to get a much better look at things. The path from the town to the manor was rough and needed tending to. The town itself looked more inviting without the clouds and rain, but not by much. The carriage came to a stop just within the edges of it. There were many people out and about, and they stared openly at Solomon as he exited his carriage along with the servants.

Once they were all out he reiterated his instructions to Claire for food purchases, Barnabus for wood, plaster, and mortar, and a few others for additional supplies. He himself would handle the rest, but he wanted the more inexperienced servants to get practice handling things themselves.

He dismissed the servants to shop and take in the town and began making his way down the street. His fine shoes and walking stick made a distinct clack as he walked. He’d familiarized himself with the general layout of the town, but the map he’d used was old and a number of things had changed around. He continued to gather stares as he walked, but he ignored them. He was a noble and was distinct even aside from that. He was tall and thin, wearing all black with his purple vest, and with long red hair hanging loose. He and most of his siblings had inherited their mother’s Ryland coloring which made them stand out even more than most of the other Founding Families aside from perhaps the Grydens and their white hair, or the Byars and their golden eyes. They had gotten the gray eyes of the Morrows though.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He walked for a few minutes before he realized that someone else was walking at the same pace as he was just a couple of yards behind. He turned around to see the servant girl, Melissa, standing there.

“Melissa, you don’t have to accompany me. You are free to shop and explore Moonfallow.”

She looked down, avoiding his gaze. “My lord, I would prefer to accompany you if that is acceptable? To help if I am able. It would not be proper for a Morrow to travel without at least one servant.”

Solomon frowned, but nodded. She had a point.

They started walking again and reached Solomon’s first destination, the courier. It was a large brick building with a number of men and women moving in and out of it. Those employed there wore the distinct blue coats with a single shield patch on the shoulder that was yellow with a horse’s hoof emblazoned in the center. There was a stable behind the building and a clear path for moving the beasts on and off the path.

Solomon avoided one of the horse’s leavings as he made his way inside. There were three counters. Two were busy and one was empty. Solomon walked to the one that was empty, ignoring, or rather, not noticing the line to the other two counters. As he arrived at the counter an older man in the customary uniform with salt and pepper hair and a massive mustache appeared.

“Excuse me. This counter is reserved for use by nobles and their representatives.”

“Then it’s exactly where I should be. I am Solomon Morrow. Newly residing at my Uncle’s former Estate and Lord of Moonfallow by inheritance.”

The man started to look a little strained as Solomon spoke, his back straightening and sweat accumulating on his brow. It was unusual for a member of a founding family to be in a town like this. Even a fourth son like himself. They’d likely only encountered minor nobility at most in their lifetime. It was an amusing distinction to Solomon. Minor nobility could be quite powerful, and in many ways it was better to be the head of a minor house than even the second son of a major one.

“Do-do you have proof sir?”

Solomon held his hand toward the man, showing his signet ring with a stag’s head and massive horns carved into it.

The man swallowed.

“What can I do for you, lord?”

Solomon took the bundle of letters from beneath his arm and placed it on the desk between them.

“I need these delivered.”

The man nodded and cut the thread that bound the letters, quickly sorting them and moving beads on an abacus behind the counter to do some quick math.

“That will be three and a quarter silver draks.”

Solomon placed the coins onto the counter between them. He’d had the money prepared before he’d even left. The cost was the same across the empire so it was a simple thing to figure. Nobility paid more to send letters, but they were sent far quicker and with more guarantees that they wouldn’t be lost or trifled with.

The man took the coins and bowed.

“Is there anything else I can do for you sir?”

Solomon frowned and looked to Melissa who appeared to be intently focused on what he was doing. “In the future this woman may come here as my representative. Remember her face.”

“Ye-yes sir.”

“Thank you,” said Solomon and they walked out of the building.

“Sir?” asked Melissa as they stepped into the cold air.

“There will be times I need letters delivered, but am busy with other things. You seem eager to do more than clean. Consider it an ancillary responsibility.”

She nodded, she didn’t smile, but there was a bit more of a glint in her eyes.

“Can you read and write?” he asked.

“Yes sir.”

“Know your numbers?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. Then it should be no problem at all for you.” The girl was only a few years younger than him, but he needed to be cultivating his servants and eventually he’d need a new official valet, or at least someone to act in the role when he travelled. It was unorthodox to choose a woman, but given the pool he had to choose from he needed to be open to the idea.

They walked further down the street, with Solomon taking in the dark red brick buildings and green roofs. There must’ve been a reason for that coloring. He was curious, but he had quite a few other things he needed to look into before that became something worth delving. On the way to the town square, he saw the church. Its high steeple showed a bell at the top of the tower and the windows were marked with the iconography of The Herald and the Laborer. A typical combination to be represented. There were probably smaller shrines to the other gods and even some local spirits spread throughout the town, but the Herald was worshipped across the Empire and the Laborer was a common choice as well. In front of the church was a priest wearing simple brown vestments, with sandy hair and light eyes. He was talking to an older man.

The priest’s eyes widened and narrowed the moment he saw Solomon and he quickly dismissed the man he’d been talking to.

“Good afternoon good sir,” he said to Solomon. “May the Herald sing you forward.”

“And may his song find you well.”

“I am Luterne,” said the man eagerly thrusting his hand toward Solomon.

“Solomon Morrow,” replied Solomon, giving the man a firm handshake. He’d been planning on visiting the Church, it was a good source of information, but he hadn’t intended on doing so before he got his other errands done.

“Morrow,” said the man with reverence as he bowed. It was a low bow, particularly for a priest. “I am surprised that someone with that name would come to some place so provincial.”

“I have inherited my uncle Victor’s estate. Up on the hill.”

“Ah yes, I had heard some talk that he lived there. I only came to this church a few years ago, so it was after he’d passed.”

That made him much less useful than Solomon hoped.

“That’s a shame, I was hoping to ask someone a bit about his time here. Had some questions about the town as well.”

“Ah, well, Priest Hinds has been here for half a century. He’d probably be able to tell you a thing or two. He’s got a cold at the moment though. There are a few others in the town that might be able to answer questions you may have as well. They probably won’t be too talkative though.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” the man glanced for the first time at Melissa, as if only just realizing she was there. “There have been some… disappearances over the last year or so. Four young women have gone missing.”

“Have the local guard not done anything?”

“They have been patrolling more. Nothing aside from that.”

Solomon frowned. He had a number of young women under his direct care now, not to mention that the town itself was his holding making the girls that had already disappeared his responsibility. He’d have to inquire with the guard and the mayor about that. He’d planned on meeting them soon anyway.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me priest, I have a few errands to get to.”

“Oh, of course sir, of course. Please call upon me if there’s anything I can do for you. Can I expect your presence at the next mass?”

“Of course.” It was important to keep up appearances. Locals were far more trusting of a liege lord that worshipped with them rather than one that stayed hidden away. The rumors of devil worshipping nobles enmeshed in secret societies usually spread very quickly if one didn’t at least go through the motions of piety.