Chapter 11 A Masked Deception #3
Old Blackwood spit out his tea. He coughed and sputtered.
A helpful servant rushed forward with a white handkerchief.
Blackwood practically threw the cup at the servant as he choked and pressed the napkin to his lips.
He patted dry his majestic mutton chops, then took out a tiny comb from his jacket’s inner pocket and combed them straight.
“Call it off? Preposterous!" the old lord choked. After recovering himself, he reached for the letter and opened it. His eyes scanned over the typeset note. Then he said, “It’s hardly a threat. More like a riddle. I don’t understand what it means.” He read the note aloud:
“Hidden behind the moonlit veil,
Eagle, fawn and otters dance.
Your gift awaits the midnight hour,
A dark reminder of your past.
Tonight, the scales shall be righted.
A visit of abyssal doom
to seal the grave you should have entered.
More awaits within the tomb.”
Old Blackwood tossed the letter back down onto the table. He grouched, “It’s nonsense, if you ask me.”
“I think someone is planning to sabotage the ball tonight.”
“Then we’ll post extra guards. A lunatic sending you riddles can’t be that dangerous.” Blackwood pinned his son with a firm glare. “If this is because you don’t want to dance at the ball—you won’t be ducking out last minute. I forbid it!”
Elias said dryly, “My concern isn’t the dance.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s about the very real death threats I’ve received since the war ended, which only seem to be increasing in frequency.”
“You’re concerned about the riddle? Which group do you think wrote this nonsense? The Association of Abyss Survivors? I thought a hefty donation would put them off. Or is it . . . what’s that new one . . . Friends of the Abyss? The Compassionate Daemon League?”
“There are dozens of them; I lose track. But they are fond of sending letters,” Elias said with some irony. “This riddle, no matter how obscure, portends some sort of disaster at midnight.”
“A risk we will have to take,” his lord father shrugged.
“As for what happened last night, there’s been a string of robberies targeting rare, shined weapons all across the kingdom since the war ended.
It was simply our turn. With all the guests staying at the castle, I’m surprised that’s the worst of it. ”
Elias glanced skyward at the alabaster ceiling and the sixteen inches of crown molding that encircled the room. “Perhaps this isn’t the worst of it. What if an assassination attempt follows the robbery?”
“Come now, my boy, you’re a Blackwood and the named Hero of the Realm. Any position of power comes with the usual inconveniences.”
Elias tapped his finger irritatedly on the chaise’s headrest. Had his father lost his mind?
“Screee!”
Berrybean caught sight of a fly and lunged off the back of Cornelius Blackwood’s chair, his silken wings fluttering and failing to lift his plump body into the air. The griffix landed with a solid thump on the low table.
“Ach, Berrybean! Damnable dust, get off!” His father cursed.
He tugged at the leash in his hand, dragging the hapless beastie off the table.
Berrybean screeched like a hawk, digging his talons into the polished wood, desperate to kill the fly.
His claws rendered deep gouges across the beautiful hardwood table.
Teacups rattled. One cup tipped over and spilled black tea across the letter, drenching the paper in amber liquid.
“Must you entertain that miserable creature?” Elias snarled, rescuing the letter with a swipe of his hand. “He should be up on the roof catching rats.”
“Nonsense, that’s no life for a griffix!” his father retorted. “He’s a fiery little fellow, my Berrybean. Make no mistake, he’s a Blackwood through and through! Perhaps I should have named him after you.”
Elias felt a headache coming on.
“About these men who stole from our treasury, have you discovered which house they belong to?” Old Blackwood asked.
“I’m beginning to think they didn’t arrive with our guests.”
“So they’re not servants?”
“No. I believe they infiltrated Gravenmere disguised as servants, but their livery is unadorned with any house sigils. I inspected their uniforms myself. Their clothes look like standard suits anyone can rummage from a secondhand shop. Convincing at a distance, but not up close.”
“Bold of them! Where are the criminals now?”
“We’re holding them in the Gravenmere cellars,” Elias said. “I want to question them a bit more after they’ve sat for a few days. I want to know who hired them and if they’re working with a larger group. They might know who orchestrated the hit on the Royal Skydust Museum.”
“If anyone can crack the case, it’s a Blackwood,” his father agreed.
Elias nodded. His title and military standing outranked the local magistrates.
The thieves were unlucky to have stolen from a Blackwood.
The cellars of Gravenmere were converted from a dungeon, and a cell block still resided under the south wing of the castle, where the thieves were locked away securely with guards posted.
They would soon be transported to a local jail.
Elias planned to visit the men before they left.
He had a few questions. The ghost swords they took were telling; it didn’t seem like a random robbery.
Three of the weapons were shined with Dust #410 Blacklight.
Odd. It seemed only the most rare weapons were targeted, which implied the hand of a specialist behind the crime.
Old Blackwood stood up and circled around the table. He clapped a hand on Elias’s shoulder.
“Enough talk about the robbery—it will all get sorted! Put all these troubles from your mind, my boy. Your thoughts should be on all the eligible young women at the castle! We’ll find you a bride tonight, whether by brimstone or briar patch!”
Elias snorted. “So the luckless lady shall be burned or stung by nettles?”
“You know what I mean. You’re a Blackwood. No matter how harsh the terrain or challenging the task, we shall see it done! Don’t forget what tonight is really all about.”
“Finding a bride?”
“Fulfilling our duty to the crown!” Blackwood blustered.
Elias sighed again, quietly, to himself.
At that moment, a knock came to the map room’s door. A servant opened it, announcing, “His Lordship, Kiran Kindale.”
“Ah, Kiran! Come in, come in!” Old Blackwood said happily. “It’s good to see you, my boy! Are you ready for the ball tonight?”
“I was born ready,” Kiran winked, a roguish smile flashing across his face.
He saluted Old Blackwood smartly, his eyes glinting with humor.
He entered the room with his usual vibrant energy and came to stand just behind Elias on the chaise.
“Are you two still discussing business? I can return in a few minutes. . . .”
“No, no. My son was just trying to convince me to cancel the ball tonight! As though I could, with half the kingdom’s aristocracy in attendance.
We must proceed with the evening’s festivities.
Besides, you lads are of the Daemonguard—I trust my castle will be as well protected as Firehelm Fortress. ”
“Very true, my lord,” Kiran said with a bow. “Gravenmere is the safest place in the kingdom with your son home.”
Old Blackwood beamed. “Good, good. My thoughts exactly. It’s going to be a madhouse leading up to the banquet.
But, with your help, we might be able to restore my son’s reputation tonight.
I don’t want you to let Elias out of your sight.
You must make sure he attends the ball. If the ladies see him with you, perhaps they won’t be so intimidated. Help him break the ice, hm?”
“Yes, sir! Don’t worry, I won’t be too likable—then the ladies might prefer me to the leading man.”
“Ho-ho!” Blackwood guffawed. “Good show! It’s a shame my son doesn’t have half your pep, Kiran. If you were in his place, you’d be married five times over by now!”
“To five different wives!” Kiran agreed.
“Oh, yes, good show.” Old Blackwood chuckled and wiped a tear from his red cheek.
“Well, in all seriousness, we must secure an engagement for Elias before the end of the ball. Thanks to The Lady’s Letter and this ongoing scandal with the princess, the king himself is eager to see our Hero of the Realm settled and wed.
I have three reporters from major papers attending the gala, all to lay to rest this nonsense about a ‘Mad Dog duke’ . . . . Ho! Oh-ho!”
Despite his father’s best efforts, Old Blackwood began chortling at the name, big chuckles heaving through his squat body until he was jiggling with mirth. Berrybean purred at his side, rubbing his face against the old duke’s pant leg.
Elias watched his father laugh, nonplussed.
“I’m glad my reputation amuses you,” Elias said dryly.
“Only because it’s so fitting!” Old Blackwood chuckled and snorted. “A mad dog . . . well, you certainly have bitten a few hands . . . oh-ho!” He laughed again.
Elias shared a pained glance with Kiran. “This is why my father brought me back from the dead—to amuse himself and retire early.”
A frown flickered across Kiran’s kindly face. “Come now, Elias, it’s good to laugh. You’re the hero who killed the Daemon King, and The Lady’s Letter has doused you in tar and feathers! The absurdity is mind-numbing. I think it’s high time we put a stop to it.”
“Is killing the Daemon King not enough?” Elias snapped. “I could care less about the opinion of some penny dreadful magazine. People will talk until they tire of the ‘Mad Dog,’ then they’ll move on to the next scandal.”
His father sobered a bit. “Careful, Elias. You might be untouchable on the battlefield, but this is a different kind of war. The king is concerned about the princess’s reputation since she spoke out on your behalf.
The courtiers are wondering about your connection to her.
They fear a scandal might interrupt the royal wedding. ”
“We have no connection. I met her once when she was twelve,” Elias quipped.