Elmwood
The first person to emerge was Winthrop. He came tumbling out as if he’d been shoved, barely managing to keep his feet. His fine blue suit was rumpled and stained, and his lip was swollen.
The Harrier followed Winthrop out of the carriage. It was disconcerting seeing him out of uniform, like seeing a blade sheathed when you were accustomed to it naked and covered in blood.
“Welcome to Merewyth, Duke Engelbrooke,” he said as gaily as he could manage. “I’ve been expecting you.”
The Harrier regarded him.
“Here I thought you’d lead me on a chase,” he said at last. “I had assumed that whoever tampered with my carriage had done so in order to warn you of my coming. Yet you stayed.” The Harrier eyed him up and down. “I suppose you’re too feeble now to offer me a proper chase.”
“Feeble or not, it still took you a month to find me in the most obvious place,” Elmwood said, but he instantly regretted it. He was trying to put up a calm front, not bait him.
The Harrier proved Elmwood’s folly by stepping closer to Winthrop and placing his gigantic mitt of a hand on his shoulder, squeezing until Winthrop made a pained, angry noise.
“Endeavor not to tire me with your buffoonery,” he said.
“Come now, Engelbrooke. We are both gentlemen. Surely we can dispense with roughing up my lawyer in favor of settling our business accordingly. We are lords, after all, not back-alley ruffians.”
“What business? I have no business with you,” said the Harrier, but he released Winthrop from his grip.
“You’re going to have business with me when I sue you to oblivion for assaulting me,” spat Winthrop. The Harrier’s attention cut to him, and Elmwood swore internally. He needed to keep the attention on himself.
“I assume that you’ve come here to apprehend me, with the objective of dragging me before the nearest magistrate. Is that not correct?” he said. Thankfully, the Harrier turned back toward him.
“If I was, are you telling me that you intend to come willingly?”
“The way I see it, the only choice remaining to me is whether or not you beat me senseless before turning me in, and frankly, I would prefer not. As such, I am going to do my best to cooperate.”
“How fascinating that you think you have a choice in the matter,” said the Harrier.
Elmwood swallowed the dry lump in his throat.
“Well, then, shall we get on with it?” he said, stepping out into the drive.
His hope was that the Harrier would take Elmwood and leave Winthrop behind at Merewyth.
He might wish to turn Winthrop in to the magistrate as well and claim that Winthrop had helped Elmwood escape, but Elmwood would deny it, and in all likelihood, they would not charge him.
Arresting lawyers was messy business, and it would be riskier for the Harrier to have the two of them in the carriage than Elmwood alone.
If there were two of them, they might be able to overcome him, and whatever else the Harrier was, he was not stupid or inclined to set the odds against his own success.
“I think not,” said the Harrier. “You see, I had a very interesting conversation with your lawyer while we made the journey from Hawkmouth.”
“I didn’t tell him anything!” said Winthrop, stepping forward, looking as though he were considering taking a swing at the Harrier’s head.
“Shut your mouth,” said the Harrier, “or I will do it for you.”
“I fail to see why anything my lawyer did or did not tell you should prevent us from getting the fuck on with this,” said Elmwood, stepping forward, desperate to keep his focus away from Winthrop.
“I will tell you what I am ready to get on with and when,” said the Harrier. “Now, let’s go inside this heap of yours. I want a drink, and I know your father kept a decent cellar at all his houses.”
This was not part of Elmwood’s plan. The last thing he wanted was to have the Harrier defile Merewyth with his presence. No, Elmwood needed to get him away from here and from Winthrop and from Hilde, as expeditiously as possible.
“Wouldn’t it be best if—”
The Harrier strode over to Elmwood, yanked his cane right out of his grip, and clubbed him in the guts with it.
Elmwood hit the gravel before it even started to hurt. He’d known a beating would be likely regardless of his cooperation, but knowing it and experiencing it were very different indeed.
“I said that I would like to come in for a drink,” the Harrier said, raising Elmwood’s cane again.
“I’d be delighted to offer you some refreshment,” Elmwood said through gritted teeth.
“Yes, you would,” said the Harrier. He stepped over Elmwood and strode into Merewyth.
Elmwood and the Harrier sat across from each other at his father’s desk.
Brumdorf had taken Winthrop off someplace within the house; Elmwood prayed that it was not to rough him up further.
Elmwood had retrieved a bottle of wine under the Harrier’s watchful eye and poured two glasses of it.
The Harrier drew a flintlock pistol and set it on the table next to his glass.
It was, Elmwood noticed queasily, primed to be shot.
The pistol situated, the Harrier reached for his glass, then raised it.
“To justice,” he said, then took a sip, smacking his lips.
“Don’t you mean ‘to vengeance’?” said Elmwood. His insides ached, and he wanted this to be over with.
The Harrier swirled the wine in his glass.
“You think this is about vengeance?”
Elmwood let out a sharp bark of laughter.
“Well, you did send me and scores of your own men to a certain death on the battlefield in response to my attempts to expose your lies. So, yes, I am inclined to assume that your interest in my present circumstances is largely motivated by wanting to finish what you started.”
The Harrier shook his head.
“Do you know, I suppose I should want vengeance. I have given over twenty years of my life to the war and have scraped out more victories than any other commander in centuries. Now, thanks to your disgusting Charm, I’ve been shuffled off on indefinite leave.
As if I could have anticipated that an amoral little worm like you had the power to wipe out hundreds of men. ”
Indefinite leave? Now, that was interesting. It explained why he wasn’t in uniform. But there was no chance it was anything more than a slap on the wrist. They hadn’t even considered investigating him for the actual treason he’d committed.
“Don’t worry, Engelbrooke, I’m certain you’ll be back to committing atrocities in no time,” said Elmwood. He drained his own wine, wondering how long it would be before he said something that got him roughed up again.
“Your concern is touching. But you’re correct; I’m certain I will be reinstated as soon as I bring you in. Though it is a pity that you were too cowardly to just die when you were supposed to—it would have saved everyone a lot of trouble.”
Hearing his own darkest thoughts echoed back to him from the Harrier’s lips was so much worse than being hit.
“So, no, vengeance is not what this is about,” the Harrier continued, draining the last of his wine.
“It’s about justice, and protecting Eldmere from moral turpitude.
You’re an abomination. The power you wield is unspeakable, and if the world was as it should be, we’d burn you at the stake right here at home.
As much as I hate to admit that the Relancians are right about anything, they do have the correct idea about Charmers. ”
“Very well, then,” said Elmwood. “I’m ready.”
The Harrier grimaced, as if the act of Elmwood agreeing with him made the victory distasteful, but he stood, picking up his pistol, and Elmwood followed suit, using the table for leverage. His cane was still out in the front drive where the Harrier had dropped it.
Then Brumdorf came in.
“Where’s the lawyer?” said the Harrier.
“Locked him in a cupboard,” said Brumdorf.
“I searched the other rooms. Sir, look at this.” He held out a piece of paper, and the Harrier grabbed it with his free hand.
It took Elmwood a heartbeat to realize what it was: Hilde’s drawing of him, naked and in repose.
She had left it behind for him, as she had promised.
The Harrier made a face of disgust. “What is this filth?”
“It’s nothing,” said Elmwood. “A silly picture.”
Then the Harrier looked at it again, and to Elmwood’s horror, he saw recognition fill his eyes.
“There’s only one person out in this forsaken backwater who can draw like this,” said the Harrier. He crumpled the drawing in his fist, and it took all of Elmwood’s will not to cry out in distress. “You fornicating reprobate. You’ve been fucking my brother’s wife!”
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Elmwood foundered, trying to keep his face placid and come up with a believable lie.
The Harrier was already advancing on him. He grabbed Elmwood by his clothing and shook him until his teeth clacked. Then he stilled, holding Elmwood so close, he could smell the wine on his breath. The pistol pressed against his chest.
“I’m going to squeeze her pretty throat until her head pops off,” he whispered into Elmwood’s ear, as if it were some manner of endearment.
Elmwood clenched his jaw so hard it made a snapping noise. “Are you so low that you’d punish a woman for an imagined indiscretion rather than just killing me?” he said. “I know that’s what you really want.”
The Harrier grinned. It was awful. “Oh, I’m not going to kill you.
Why would I murder a lord and risk banishment myself?
No, I’m going to make you wish you were dead, and then hand you over to Relance so they can finish the job.
I hear they’re burning effigies of you in the streets there, so rest assured that it won’t take them long.
” Then he turned his head and called out to Brumdorf. “Where’s the cupboard?”
The Harrier dragged him down the corridor, following Brumdorf, until they came to the large wardrobe in the hall outside of Elmwood’s room.
Brumdorf had pushed a chest in front of it, blocking the door, and the Harrier gestured for him to move it aside.
He did, then opened the cupboard, revealing Winthrop curled in one corner of it, squinting in the sudden light.
Elmwood flailed, struggling against the Harrier’s grip, trying to stay clear of the pistol.
He had to do something to stop the Harrier, to protect Hilde, to save Winthrop.
He cried out, managing to wrench one arm free, then kneed the Harrier in the groin.
The Harrier grunted, doubling over, but kept his grip on Elmwood’s arm.
Elmwood used the opportunity to take a swing at the man’s head with his free arm and connected with a jolt that reverberated up his arm.
The Harrier snarled, then punched Elmwood in his bad hip. Pain shattered through him, and he went limp, held up only by the Harrier’s grip on him.
Rollo came running out into the hall just then, barking and yipping and jumping with enthusiasm. He thought they were having some delightful game and wanted to join in.
“Rollo, no!” cried Elmwood, horrified. He had entrusted him to Nimsby, with the instructions to take him down to the village until everything was over, then give him to Hilde. Rollo must have escaped somehow. Truly he was the most hapless, disaster-prone dog to ever exist.
The Harrier looked between Elmwood and the dog, a horrible gleam lighting his eyes.
Then the Harrier raised the pistol, cocked it, and shot Rollo.
The shot rang in Elmwood’s ears as he stared at the little dog’s still form where it lay on the floor.
“Now that,” said the Harrier with a wide grin, “was vengeance.”