Jasper

 ok, this one doesn't have a title as such either but it's an opening to the Brandon Scandals of those who were kids in the first series, jumping to 1821. 

It isn't completed yet, so I hope I can keep ahead. Jasper finds himself in the role of helping damsels in distress and might like one of them more than a little. There will be puppies. 

Chapter 1

 

The three bays were perfectly matched, and all worked well together. Jasper was well satisfied.

“Want a drive, Phebe?” he asked his sister, sat beside him in his high perch phaeton.

“Oh, may I?” Phebe was delighted.

“If I can advertise them as used to a lady driver as well, I might get a higher price for them,” said Jasper. ,

Phebe happily took the reins.

“Are you doing well?” she asked.

“Very,” said Jasper.

Their stepmother, Imogen, had settled money on him, and told him that she would help him invest it as he chose. The half-gypsy boy had a magical touch with horses, and chose to purchase young horses, especially those sold up to pay debts, picking them to match as pairs, fours, and in this case, three, to train and sell on. He had more than quadrupled the initial amount he had been given, as profits, and had set the initial amount aside in the funds, for a safe income in case of any mishap. Purchasing four young horses for often under one hundred guineas enabled him to sell them for six hundred guineas, or more, as a matched four.  Of course, he had to work out their keep, and the wages of grooms to help him, which he was determined to do, not just make use of his father’s stables. Evelyn, Marquis Finchbury, would have been happy to let his eldest son do just that, but Jasper was proud to a fault, and wanted to prove he could do well with business, even if he planned one day to merge his business into the family estate, when he served his young, legitimate, brother as a steward. Seven years had passed since Jasper had  come to live with his father and his bride, and Bleddyn, his brother, was recently breeched at six years old. After Bleddyn were Enid, Cassandra, and Jethro, and Jasper adored all of them.

“You’ll be less likely to find a lady who drives unicorn,” said Phebe, plying her whip to disturb the flies around the ears of her leader. “Most don’t.”

“Oh, I can’t be responsible for most people not teaching their daughters the important things in life,” said Jasper.

Phebe laughed. “It was a shame in a way that the fourth one did not measure up to work with the others.”

“Yes, I did not set out to train them to pull unicorn. The wheelers however will pull as a pair, and the leader with either one of them in tandem. So there’s some versatility to them, and the loner a good brisk trotter. I might race with him in my curricle to get my name better known.” Jasper had considered it an investment to purchase several different types of carriage for the training of the horses he mixed and matched. It was no good training a team of six on a curricle, nor to expect a pair to pull a heavy coach.

“Mama would tell you  off and then tell you to take care,” said Phebe. “Oh! What is happening ahead? Those are girls from my school, and some gypsies.”

Jasper took the reins and tooled himself alongside the girls.

“Now then, are you troubling the giorgio girls?” he asked.

“Jus’ beggin’,” mumbled the apparent leader.

“Ladies, would you care to be more explicit?” asked Jasper, raising his hat to the ladies. He leaped down, tossing the reins back to Phebe.

The blonde was half fainting, having fallen backwards at the side of the road; the red-head had been shouting at the gypsies, and had grabbed a fallen branch. It was sere, Jasper noted, and would have broken rather than breaking any heads, but her instincts were good.

“He said we owed him a kiss each before we might pass,” said the redhead.

“Oh? How uncouth of him,” said Jasper.

The gypsies were ganging up closer together, when Jasper hit the leader in the mouth, twice, with a double pile-driving blow. He went down.

Jasper slipped into the Rom tongue.

“Take your lewd friend away and stay away, and leave the girls in the school alone or there will be an accounting. Don’t assume I don’t know the ways just because I’m a didekoi; my giorgio pa gives room for gypsies to camp if you don’t make trouble. I know one of you, Moses Prewitt; don’t you mess with us Lovells.”

It worked, and they melted off the road and away, taking their hurt leader with them.

“Well, now, ladies, perhaps you would like to get up with Phebe so she can drive on to school; and I’ll run along behind to retrieve my phaeton,” said Jasper. He offered an arm to the one who had fallen, to help her up into the phaeton. She gazed up into his face, and clung to him as soon, thought Jasper, as she had assessed the cost of his clothing. 

“Oh, my! These sporting phaetons are so challenging. I declare I scarcely know how to get up!”

“Perhaps if I make a stirrup with my hands and Phebe helps you from above,” said Jasper, who had no intention of lifting a girl with eyes a blue as forget-me-nots somehow tinged, in Jasper’s imagination with the pure yellow of calculation, if one might borrow the church’s colours for the deadly sins. Phebe pulled with more enthusiasm than gentleness, and with a toss from Jasper, the blonde almost fell into the phaeton.

He turned to the redhead. The green of her eyes was soft and like moss on old trees.

“Why, what a long way up it is, to be sure,” said the girl, a little disconcerted. “I will make use of your arm, if I may, sir; thank you.”

Jasper noted that she needed very little help indeed to climb up.

“At your service,” said Jasper, raising his hat. “Walk on!” he said to the horses.

Jasper had sharp ears, and he heard the blonde beauty say,

“Well, what’s a child your age doing, driving out with a dangerous blade like that? You’ll be in so much trouble, you know, when The Gorgon finds out.”

Jasper smiled grimly. Presumably ‘the Gorgon’ was the head preceptress and the blonde beauty had no idea that Phebe had a brother, and permission to go home with him for the weekend.                                                                                                

He vaulted a gate, and started to jog across the fields, knowing where the school was, and having what was an almost uncanny bump of direction, was fairly sure he would arrive in the village very shortly behind Phebe.

 

oOoOo

 

Phebe sneered at Marianne Blackley, the blonde, for her comment.

“You’re such a fool, Marianne,” she said.

“Somehow I doubt the gentleman would permit Phebe to drive a bang-up team like that if he wasn’t very well known to her family,” said the redhead.

“You hold your tongue, Laura!” said Marianne. “You know nothing of the world, or of dangerous blades, and you’re not likely to, either, being a bastard brat of who knows who, shuffled off to school out of the way.”

“I’m a bastard too,” said Phebe. “Like Laura, I was born that way. What’s your excuse, Marianne?”

“Really, Phebe, I’m not base-born, I have a very good family,” said Marianne, preening. “You are almost acceptable in society as your father acknowledges you, but I expect you’ll still have to make your living as a governess when you leave school.”

“Well, that’s all you know,” said Phebe. “But of course, we won’t be moving in the same circles, as you go out of your way to irritate those of you who might have got you an entrée into society.”

“Well, you’ll hardly be moving in society, your father’s wife won’t want to have to bring out one of his cuckoos,” said Marianne.

“You’re so bourgeois,” said Phebe.

“Woof!” said the pile of white fluff at her feet.

Marianne made a disgusted face.

“Why you have to bring that mongrel with you, I don’t know,” she said.

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” said Phebe. “Now, were you finished with insulting my family and my pet? Because if not, I’m pulling over for you to walk back to the school, and you can do it alone, for Laura is going to stay in the phaeton as I’m not used to driving on my own.”

“You know we’re not allowed to walk out alone! It’s unladylike!” gasped Marianne.

“That’s why I thought it suited you,” said Phebe. “Going to keep your tongue behind your teeth, then?  Good.”

 

 

oOoOo

 

Jasper was pleased with his speed through woods and fields, and came through the churchyard of St. Michael’s church in the little village of Taddell.  Across the road, and up the drive was Tad Hall, where the school was situated. Jasper checked his appearance, and swaggered up the drive.

As he came in sight of the gracious stone Tudor building which housed the school, he happened upon a woman of uncertain age, though undoubtedly a lady. Jasper raised his hat.

The woman flapped her hands.

“Shoo! Shoo, you horrid dirty creature! Begone! This is a school for young ladies!”

“Well, to be sure it is, look you, for I’d scarcely expect my sister to be at a school for young gentlemen, now, would I?” said Jasper, who was inclined to lapse into the Welsh idiom and accent of his adored grandmother.

“I... I’ll call the constables!” cried the woman.

“To be sure, if it makes you happy to do so,” said Jasper. “Have I actually beaten my sister here? Why, yes, for that sounds like hoofs on the drive.”

“Oh dear, oh dear!” the woman moaned as Phebe drove up the drive at a spanking pace, and drew up outside the school. “Phebe, my dear, drive on, and I will keep this gypsy from menacing you!”

“Why, Miss Phipps, what gypsy? This is my brother,” said Phebe. “He ceded his phaeton to me to bring home Miss Blackley and Miss Cartwright, since they really were menaced by gypsies.” She smiled brightly. “Jasper hit their leader, and they ran away. Most satisfying.”

“B...b...brother?” quavered Miss Phipps.

“Finch, at your service, Miss Phipps, now we are introduced,” said Jasper, doffing his hat again and making a flamboyant leg. “Take her round to wherever your baggage is offloaded, Phebe, and I’ll help you unload it, and your luggage as well.”

“Behave, Jasper,” said Phebe.

“No, must I? It’s more fun misbehaving,” said Jasper. “Ah, servants for your boxes, valises, fal-lals and the other unnecessary appurtenances of female life.”

“I’ll remind you of that next time you ruin a dozen neckcloths in the morning before you are collared to your satisfaction,” said Phebe.

“A dozen? Never so few. A score at least,” said Jasper, who did his tie in one attempt. This was, however, an old joke, because a dandy had to claim to need many attempts. And the image helped him sell horses.

Jasper leaped up after assisting the other ladies down, and Phebe and Moppy, her dog, came down from the Phaeton without assistance with the grace of long acquaintance, in Phebe’s case, and like a controlled fall in Moppy’s.

“Be good, I’ll see you in a couple of weeks,” said Jasper. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That leaves me almost endless leeway,” said Phebe.

“Cheeky brat,” said Jasper, from the superior age of nineteen to rising fifteen.

Phebe laughed. She and Jasper had been very close, from the time when she had first been brought to live with her father, and whilst her stepmother was still working on overcoming his moral scruples to marry her, being beset with scandal. Phebe had missed Jasper sorely whilst he was up at Oxford, and had relished every letter he had sent. As Jasper, whilst fond enough of his studies, could never have been described as an angel, he described all the larks and pranks he and his fellows had got up to, and Phebe had digested, and learned.

She had been a part-time boarder at Tad Hall School for almost a year now, going home at least once a month, sometimes permitted to bring her friend, Harriet, with her, and had not yet dared to perpetrate anything too daring. But that was before Marianne Blackley had arrived, to do two years finishing, and learning how to associate with those in whose society her fond parents hoped she might find herself. Tad Hall took, on the whole, girls who were nominally of the gentry, like curate’s daughters, or those who had an embarrassment of birth circumstances, and Evelyn, Marquis Finchbury, had decided that his daughter would be happier there, where she was one of those of better, if irregular, birth, than in a school where the daughters of other noblemen might bully her for her illegitimacy. On the whole, Phebe agreed.

Harriet, also newly returned, squealed with delight, and hugged Phebe. She was a pleasant looking girl with sandy curls and blue eyes.

“I saw you driving unicorn!” she said. “And I wondered if you had brought the team to school! Whatever possessed you to give a lift to Morgause and her slave?”

“We fell in with them, menaced by gypsies, and my brother saw them off, the gypsies not the fell fae female, and he suggested I drive them back to the Hall,” said Phebe.  “Laura isn’t so bad, actually; she tried to stand up to Marianne. Why don’t we steal her as a friend and sour lemons to Morgause?”  Naturally, Phebe knew her folklore and the tales of King Arthur’s wicked sister.

Harriet pulled a face.

“I suppose it’s our Christian duty,” she said, “But she is a rather big girl.”

“She’s seventeen, only two years older than we are,” said Phebe, bracingly.

Harriet sighed.

“I suppose so,” she said. “Papa would expect it.”

Harriet’s father, Michael Brent, was the rector of St. Michael’s, and Harriet boarded weekly, so she might, her mother said, firmly, enjoy being with girls her own age, rather than going home every day as her father considered more sensible. Harriet was overjoyed that her uncle was paying for her to board. She loved her father dearly, but he was very austere, and it had taken a visit from Lord Finchbury to ask him in what particulars he and his daughter were not good enough to permit Harriet to visit Finchbury Hall, since if it was good enough for his Brandon in-laws to visit, he might wonder what manner of prodigies Harriet and her family might be.

Since it was the scandals surrounding Evelyn and the Brandon family which had been a bar, the vicar had begged his pardon for listening to gossip.

Harriet relished her visits to Finchbury Hall, but all of Phebe’s attempts to matchmake between her friend and her brother had so far failed on both sides, Jasper seeing Harriet as a delightful child, and Harriet seeing Jasper as a fun, but rather scary family member.

Phebe had not given up.

 

A bit of Castamir fanfiction.

 I had this idea about Harmon's death, and it seemed to me to be a good idea to follow that up. this can stand alone as a short story, but Simon is considering remodelling it to use as an opening to book 3. 

 

 

The visitor was one of those ferrety little rats of men I usually avoid; but he had used the, if you will pardon the phrase, ‘magic words’ of ‘It’s about your former master, Harmon.’

“What about Harmon?” I asked, surprised the fellow actually followed me into the Tower, something few peasants will do. He looked like a townsman, wearing brighter colours than actual peasants, but all commons do usually fear the Tower. 

He looked about, his eyes bright, knowing, and observant. He appreciated the tankard of ale I sent for – somehow I did not think tea was his tipple – and took being presented with it by an unseen servant with remarkable aplomb.

“You do pretty well for yourself, Towermaster,” he said. “And news of your fame has spread since the unfortunate demise of Harmon. You’re better at selling yourself, getting put in so many ballads and chap books.”

“I am?” I asked, disconcerted.

“Are you telling me you don’t know?” he asked, derisively.

“I didn’t know,” I said. “I don’t generally purchase chap books or ballad sheets.”

“And you didn’t pay to be featured, either?” he sneered.

“No,” I said, starting to get irritated. “Did you actually have anything to tell me about Harmon or am I going to defenestrate you?”

“That would be a very bad idea,” he said. “If I die, or disappear, certain knowledge will be released. But I’d rather you paid for the knowledge.”

“What knowledge?” I asked, in as controlled a way as I could, eyeing up his weasely little throat as if I wanted to fasten my hands about it

I did, of course, but I do have a lot of self-control. People who survive time with the likes of demons or elves learn to keep themselves in check.

“I know how he came to be thrown from his horse,” said the ferret.

“Well, why the hell didn’t you come forward before? And if, as I surmise, you consider the circumstances suspicious,” I said.

He looked really surprised.

“Are you telling me you didn’t pay for someone to kill him?” he asked.

I did grab him by the throat at that point. And let him go, immediately.

“No,” I said, with some effort, “I did not pay for someone to kill him. I loved him like a father, and if anyone killed him, I want to know, so that I can avenge him.”

“Frottorand’s bollocks!” he swore. The overgod of the various minor deities of the land was the reason so many men were named ‘Frottor’ to honour him, it being disrespectful to use his whole name, of course. He went on, “Will you swear it, on your magic?”

I did not really see why I should, for ferret-face, but if someone had harmed my master, I wanted to know.

“I swear on my love of Arcana and on my magic that I had no part in the death of my former master, Harmon,” I said.

My staff’s orb lit up enthusiastically.

“Well, now!” said Ferret-face, licking his lips. “And what will you give for the information?”

“At the moment, I’m inclined to offer you your hide, intact, and without blemish or extra embellishment,” I said.

“There’s no need to get nasty,” he said.

“Oh?” I said.

“Look, you’re famous enough that rich idiots fall over themselves to hire you,” he said.

“Yes, and I tell most of them to go fish up a tree,” I said. “I have no interest in fame, or wealth. And I despise most noblemen. I sell potions to those who need them, at cost, plus a little for my time, save when I waive my fee entirely.”

“You seriously need a marketing manager.”

“I seriously do not. You can tell me, and I owe you a favour; or you can withhold your information and I owe you an ill turn. You are aware of the fates of Lord Pennover and his mother?”

He shuddered.

“By the gods!” he cried. “I’ve not insulted you the way the ass Penover did, to get turned into an ass for real, nor sent a demon after you as it’s said Lady Renilla did, to join her son as a ruddy beast of burden!”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Accusing me of murdering Harmon is pretty insulting. And I’m beginning to think you know nothing; for I used speak with dead to talk to Harmon, and he had no thought that he had been murdered.”

“Well, I do, so there,” he said. “I work in The Blue Demon Inn, in Stonebridge.” It was the nearest town, in fact, my birthplace, and imaginatively enough, there was a stone bridge over the river there. “Harmon hired a horse there.”

“Yes, I’ve never understood why he would do that, when he could have used a rug of travelling,” I said.

“He said he wanted to call on one Lord Dreflain, who is nervous of magic,” said the ferret. “So he hired a horse. He arrived on his carpet, and left it hovering in the air, rolled up. It was weird.”

“An unseen servant,” I said.

“Yeah, and it took the carpet away when he expired,” said the ferret.

I was probably going to have to ask him his name at some point.

Actually, I thought I knew it.

“I’ve seen you before,” I said. “You’re Orgey Spint.”

He actually looked gratified.

“You know my name!” he said.

I wouldn’t have done if I hadn’t been in the Blue Demon a few times with Harmon, where the fellow had it shouted at him all the time. I had a revelation. He was sick of being, at the beck and call of everyone, and wanted a lump sum to escape.

“If your information is good, when you finally get there,” I said, “How would you feel about being on a retainer for me... I’ll match your pay in the inn... to bring me any information you think might be interesting about people moving through the town, local notables and so on, and I’ll pay extra for how useful I find what you bring me?”

He brightened.

“I’m your man,” he said. “Getting away isn’t always easy.”

Not perhaps a very reliable man, but I do make a reasonably good living when I do do favours for nobles, and Chessina has been investing in various business ventures, about which I did not make too many close enquiries, and it really was about time to have a network of informants.  It adds to the air of omniscience which helps a wizard’s reputation, teamed with my favourite enigmatic smile.

“Do you write?” I asked.

He looked offended.

“Of course,” he answered.

“Good; I’ll provide you with enchanted parchment, which will write a duplicate for me as you write, with a rune to erase it when the page is full,” I said.

The duplicate I would copy out legibly as I doubted his writing was especially fluent.

“By the gods, magic is wonderful,” he said, awed. 

It’s a spell, cast on two sheets of parchment at once, using Quantamius’s Tangling, a useful spell making two things do the same thing at the same time, however far apart.

“I love magic,” I said, sincerely.

“Right. Well,  I ain’t surprised Harmon took you as an apprentice, you was a clever little boy,” he said. “That’s why I thought it was you as done him in; it being Verro Horseman who I saw tinkering with his saddle, he was Verro Penson when you were a nipper. You played with him.”

“No, he made me play with him; he was a bully, like his father,” I said. Oh. That explained one reason I had taken an immediate dislike to Lord Penover; Verro and Pen are some of the names derived from that fairly common name.  He put me in mind of my youthful tormentor, Verro.  I went on, “You think he put a burr under his saddle or something?”

“There was no burr,” said Orgey. “I did check, on account of being suspicious. But the saddle was loose. Now, there’s some horses will puff up, just so the girth is put on loose, to throw the unwary; and you have to be aware of them. But Old Whitey wasn’t like that. And an experienced horseman would not be caught, but I don’t think Harmon rode much?”

“No, he wasn’t much for riding,” I said.  “Did anyone else but Verro approach the horse?”

“No, he was the ostler handling it,” said Orgey. “But he’s open to bribes, is Verro.”

“Well, I imagine it might have been a petty revenge on his own account, I suppose,” I said, reluctantly. “Harmon found me when I manifested magic for the first time, when I stuck Verro’s feet to the cobbles, and Harmon was in Stonebridge, and unstuck him, and gave him a lecture on bullying children smaller than him. If Verro thought that Harmon had glued his feet down, not me, I can see why he would be happy to drop him on the ground ignominiously. That he struck his head and died not being a circumstance Verro would have forseen, being rather limited. Which is like saying that the river is rather damp,” I added, viciously.

Orgey sniggered.

“He’s as thick as a well-dried turd,” he said.

“That, too,” I agreed. “Well, I shall look through Harmon’s diary, and see what he wanted to see Lord Dreflain about, which might hold a clue. I suppose you’d better stay to supper now you’re here. Are you afraid to sleep in the tower?”

“Naow, I ain’t one of them fools what think magic is dangerous. I mean, magic is dangerous, but so are horses if you don’t respect them, or a mill if you’re a miller, and I know if you tell me ‘don’t go here’ I’d be an idiot, or more likely dead, to not listen.”

I found his attitude rather refreshing. Magic is a tool, a dangerous tool to the unwary, but if respected, will not kill.

“I think you’d better stay in the room I give you to sleep in, and I’ll fetch you for breakfast,” I said. “We rise early, you need not fear getting back to the inn. Did you bring a horse?”

“Mule,” said Orgey. “I’ll go see to it. And, er, thanks for the hospitality. Plenty wouldn’t even have offered me ale. I don’t give loyalty lightly, but you got it.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I actually believed him. Simple acts of courtesy can have long reaching effects.

 

Naturally I had to explain Orgey to Chessina when she came in from playing with our ward, Elizelle. Chessina was visibly pregnant now, and had a serene look to her. Vellera, our apprentice, was with her.

“Orgey believes Harmon was murdered, dear,” I said. “He’s just become my employee, as an informant.”

“Very wise,” said Chessina. “A great man can never have too many informants. I keep telling you so.”

“And I listened,” I said.

Orgey was mesmerised by Chessina, who had fortunately not decided to surprise me with the appearance of her horns and tail.

“Your lady wife is the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said, awed.

I preened.

So did Chessina. No woman minds being admired.

“Are we going to avenge your master, Master?” asked Vellera.

“That’s the idea,” I said. “But we need to find out some background information before we can act.”

I was not sorry to send Orgey on his way the next morning, as I had work to do, and did not want him hanging about.

I also did not want him corrupting Vellera. Chessina was capable enough of that, and the child was now happily grubby when she was not at lessons, from climbing trees, rolling down slopes, messing about in streams and the other sorts of fun she had been denied as a royal princess, and a lot more wholesome fun than if she had listened wide-eyed to the sort of gossip Orgey had subjected us to over our two meals with him. At least he did not see magic everywhere as many commons do, and commented that the sickness of Mayor Renil Purseclose’s hogs was more likely to be his pinchpenny attitude over how often their straw was changed than any kind of sending by Widow Aria Tailor, however much she called the mayor down. The tale of the hogs running mad was amusing though, especially as they disrupted the mayor’s parade.

“Sounds like poisoning in something they ate,” Chessina had commented. “Didn’t Wisewoman Matille have to tell off Moro of the hill for letting his hogs eat cherry leaves gathered with hay?”

Orgey had laughed.

“I’ll tell the town that one, if I may,” he said.

“Do,” said Chessina. “We wizards get blamed for enough; might as well set the record straight as to where the blame lies.”

 

oOoOo

 

When Orgey had left, with his charmed piece of parchment, I turned my mind to reading Harmon’s diary.  

It was essentially the last entry.

I suppose I shall have to do something about Lady Sheyla’s request. I can’t believe that idiot Dreflain seriously thinks that Sheyla is putting spells on him. He flatters himself that the merry widow would consider him a suitable fifth husband. Now if he had been her husband and had accused her of trying to poison him, that would not surprise me, but using some kind of mind-control spell to make him desire her? The fool doubtless managed to get the hots for her on his own, though convincing him of that will be difficult. I may have to come up with some spurious but comforting ritual to assure him that he is protected from magical wiles, and point out that if he still desires her, presumably the only wiles are those of a beautiful and accomplished woman which is the oldest magic of all, and the province of the Goddess Agapa. Not that love and lust are the same thing, but there are connexions. I am more concerned about why Sheyla has asked me to convince Dreflain that she is not involved in any magic directed at him.  She was adamant that I call on her when I had seen him.

I do not wish to be too presumptuous, but I do wonder whether this is an excuse on Sheyla’s part to involve me in her affairs, I am not ill-looking, and to marry the Towermaster would be a social feather in her cap, having been turned down by Dragovar. She will be disappointed. I have no desire to ally myself with a socially-climbing noblewoman with the proclivities of a gutter-whore. I wish Lords Bertor and Marel luck of her, the fools. At least Dreflain has the sense to want to break away.

 

I had heard my master mention Sheyla. He was inclined to say that he would have said that her morals were as loose as the waist-string of a whore’s drawers, save that he suspected they had gone so far past that as to be pooling around her feet for the lack of any string at all.

Should I go and see Dreflain? No, he was unlikely to be likely to have had anything against Harmon, and probably wasn’t even expecting him.

I needed to speak to Verro. And intimidate him.

He had been  terrified by me glueing him to the ground. A show of power should have him babbling all he knew.

I took the carpet into town, and took a room at the Blue Demon.

The sign was even less well painted than I remembered. Given that demons are known for their mutability, the grossness of the form was not too inaccurate, but the execution of the painting was poor enough that it might just as well have been meant to be a dragon. It had too many teeth. Mind, there was the demon we knew as Pointy-teeth... but that had been at court, not far away in the provinces like this.

I drew a fake circle of summoning on the floor, set an invisible servant there holding a censor of sparkles, a magical toy which produces sparkles of light when shaken or when magic is nearby. I had borrowed it from Elizelle, having made it for her, as something to soothe and occupy her in her cot. With the invisible servant instructed to rotate slowly, moving it up and down from floor level to about six feet up, it produced a fair facsimile of a magical gate opening.  Why waste serious spells when the little inadequate could be impressed by less? I had learned a lot of showmanship from Chessina.

I called for Zelly, the chambermaid, and with largesse she was persuaded to send Verro to my room.

“I don’t mind so much him handling me with a good vail,” she said.

I doubled her tip; I did not know about the handling.

“Threaten to shave him next time he passes out drunk,” I suggested. “All over. And not to be too careful of anything that sticks out.”

She giggled.

“Thank you kindly, Towermaster, I’ll do that,” she said.

 

Verro turned up with an ingratiating look on his face.

“What might I do for the Towermaster?” he asked. He did not seem to recognise me. I suppose it had been a long time, and now I was taller than he was, and broader of shoulder. He was still fat, though. His teeth were in worse condition now, as he grinned and cringed simultaneously. I had a moment’s sudden revelation that he did not see Orgo Plumber, who had been his punching bag, but Castamir, Towermaster, mighty wizard, and Seriously Scary Person. He was eyeing my staff and the manifestation of my unseen servant playing with my foster-daughter’s toy. Incongruously, I wanted to giggle.

“Verro,” I said. “You were seen slacking my predecessor’s girth when he hired a horse from this inn. I’ve had rather more weighty things on my mind, like dealing with demons and stopping an elven war, but now I’ve turned my mind to why you murdered my former master. You will tell me the truth, all the truth, or I may decide to use the portal I have there and send you to... well, let us just say, you would not enjoy it.”

“Oh mighty wizard!  It wasn’t me, well, I mean, I was paid to do it, I never thought he would die, I was ready to laugh at him, because he did me a bad turn once, and when Lord Bertor said he wanted him delayed and injured perhaps, I did it!”

“And what do you count a bad turn that Harmon did you?” I demanded.

“He stuck my feet to the ground to stop me putting a snotty orphan in his place!” he yammered.

“No, actually, he didn’t,” I said. “The snotty orphan found he had magical powers, and Harmon released you and took him as his apprentice. Where I became more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” I stood to tower over him. It’s amazing what good food in the growing years of the teens do for a lad.

He soiled himself both ways.

“Oh, by all the gods! You have come to take revenge! Please don’t hurt me, I swear on Frottorand, Frottillina, Ogroval, Agapa and all the other gods never to hurt any more people smaller than me!”

“That rather suggests you have been hurting people in the meantime,” I said. “Why should I forgive you?”

He sobbed and knelt, and whinneyed like one of the horses he cared for.

“You are revolting,” I said. “I really can’t be bothered with you. So long as you tell me all about this Bertor who hired you to delay Harmon.”

“He wanted to propose to Lady Sheyla before Harmon did, because he knew he had no chance as a rival to the Towermaster,” sobbed Verro. “And he gave me a bonus because Harmon died!  And he married Lady Sheyla, and they went to the capital to visit her cousin, Lady Renilla, Duchess of Osierleet. But they came home, and she’s aged beyond all recognition, and Bertor has taken to drink. That’s all I know.”

“It’s enough,” I said. “I lay a geas on you, by stone and stream, by sun and moon, by tree and grass to place into the poor box of the Sisters of Frottellina the sum of the bonus.”

No of course the geas had no power; I wasn’t going to waste a rather powerful spell on someone whose terror and conscience would do the same thing, because his fear was enough to give him stomach problems if he delayed too long. Harmon had often spoken of using the magic of human credulity and Chessina, bless her, had actually explained this to me, and that it was not charlatanism, but pure psychology, and using my will against that of others.

I never argue with my wife.

“If you start bullying again, I’ll know,” I said. “You may go.”

He staggered out as well as unpleasantly filled trousers permitted him. I cast a few air freshening spells. His diet was not of the best, and it was detectable.

And then I swore several blistering oaths.

Sheyla, widowed many times, preternaturally beautiful, and cousin of a woman who had summoned a demon. And Sheyla had also lost her looks.

One had to assume that it was she who had introduced Renilla to  demonology, and with the same patron, the demon we knew as Pointy-teeth.

I was too close to this.

I clenched my fists, and my jaw, and fought with myself not to let my rage out over this senseless killing of my master, who had no interest in this blasted woman!  I wanted to blast Bertor into a million little pieces, and I was having to clamp down because the inn was beginning to shake. Verro... I had dismissed him before I obliterated him. He was a brainless thug. He had not thought things through. Bertor... no, I would not think of Bertor, while there were breakable things near me like the town of Stonebridge, or my beloved foster-daughter’s favourite toy.

I would write a report to Dragovar and let him deal with what to do about Bertor, and Harmon’s murder; and what to do about Sheyla.

He is the Royal Wizard, after all. They pay him for these headaches.

 

I dismissed the invisible servant, and took my carpet home, where Chessina, who could read my moods very well, promptly grew horns and a tail and let me chase her to bed where she could enjoy manipulating me into being what she called masterful.

I felt a lot better after she had loved me into submission.

Doubtless after my report had been read, we would get a summons to the city.

Oh, well, a quiet life is not for the likes of wizards.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Dietrichson Report, by Simon

 Simon wrote this because it had been scratching at the back of his mind. It's essentially an alternate ending to the film 'Double Indemnity' in which Walter Neff gets away with it scott free. It's just one of those little things which won't leave one alone... so he wrote it.

The Dietrichson Report

Pacific All Risk Insurance Co. Internal Memo

To: Barton Keyes, former chief claims adjuster, retired

From: Walter Neff, chief claims adjuster

Subject: Final report on the Dietrichson case

Keyes, I can now compose this report, the final report on the Dietrichson case, but I can never send it, not when we buried you this morning.

I was there with my wife Lola, our three children Jane, Alice and little Billy, your god-children, and all your other friends. You had a lot of friends Keyes, with your big heart that you would never admit to.

You had the Dietrichson case all worked out Keyes, you and your little man, all but one little detail. You had the identity of the murderer wrong because you were too close Keyes, you thought it was Zachetti. It wasn't Zachetti, Keyes, it was me, Walter Neff, right across the desk from you. I killed Dietrichson because I was in love with his wife, Phyllis. I planned the whole thing and I planned it smart because I knew you would investigate and I had to fool you.

I killed Dietrichson, Keyes, I broke his neck in the car on the way to the station. I felt his neck snap as I twisted it and I glanced up at Phyllis in the mirror and saw the savage exultation in her face. It didn't impinge on me at the time but I came to remember it later.

I got onto the train in place of Dietrichson, just like you figured, wearing a blue serge suit like Dietrichson was wearing. Remember the blue serge suit Keyes, it had a part to play later on. Jackson surprised me by being on the platform of the observation car but he turned out to be useful in the end. I sent him away, jumped off the train and Phyllis and I put Dietrichson's body on the tracks as though he had fallen from the train. I thought we were all clear and then the car wouldn't start. I thought my heart would stop, Keyes, but I managed to get the thing going.

Things moved smoothly then, though that idiot Norton tried to claim it was suicide. You put him right with a vengeance, Keyes, I really enjoyed watching you do it. And then. Then I thought of what I'd done. I'd killed a man. I'd killed him for his woman. And money. Then I remembered that look, the look on Phyllis' face when I killed Dietrichson, and that made me uneasy, Keyes.

You know what happened then, Keyes, I started seeing Lola. First it was to find out what she knew, but then it was just because it made me feel good. I couldn't help comparing Lola and Phyllis and wondering when Phyllis would decide that she didn't need me around any longer, particularly when Lola told me about her mother and Phyllis.

You remember, Keyes, you said when two people commit murder together they are on a street car together, and they can't get off and the last stop is the cemetery? I was on that streetcar, Keyes and I didn't think I had a way off. Then I broke into your office and listened to your report. You said you had investigated me and that you vouched for me, also that you thought that Zachetti was the murderer and that he had been seen at the Dietrichson house.  As Lola had left home and moved in with a girlfriend, I knew that Zachetti had been seeing Phyllis. Was Phyllis setting up my replacement so soon? Whatever her reasons I figured that this was my way out, my way off the streetcar. I could get Zachetti to get on and he could ride to the cemetery, not me.

It wasn't difficult to get Zachetti to go and see Phyllis that night, I just had to get there first. I don’t know why I wore the blue serge suit, the same one I wore to kill Dietrichson but I'm glad I did. When I got there Phyllis admitted to seeing Zachetti but claimed she did it to use him as a fall guy. Poor Zachetti, he was everybody's fall guy. As I closed the curtains Phyllis drew a gun and shot at me but just missed, I think in the darkness my blue serge suit threw off her aim. I dared her to shoot again but she didn't, told me that she loved me, that she'd just realised it.  I didn't believe a word of it. I took the gun, said "Goodbye, baby" and shot her twice.

I wiped the gun with my handkerchief and left it by Phyllis' body. I got out quick, leaving the door ajar and hid until I saw Zachetti come to the house. I waited until he went in and then I left, I wanted to be well away before the cops arrived as with three gunshots someone was bound to call them. I was sure that an impulsive guy like Zachetti would pick up the gun or something else equally stupid, and as it turned out, he did. Zachetti protested his innocence of course, but it did no good. The jury were out less than an hour. Poor Zachetti, everybody's fall guy.

I helped Lola during the trial when all sorts of things came out, like Phyllis being Lola's mother's nurse and helping her on to her final pneumonia. I came to work with you as a claims adjuster. I saw more and more of Lola and we were married in the spring with you as best man. Then Jane came along, with you as her god-father. Then the war came and I moved into your job when you went to work for the government doing the job you could never talk about. I'm sure your little man worked overtime.

You carried on working for the government after the war, but we remained close, you being god-father to Alice and Billy. I'm glad Billy got to have you around for several years and I'm very glad that when you got sick, it was quick.

And so, I'm responsible for the deaths of three people; and I'm responsible for three lives. Does that balance it out somehow? Perhaps, one day, you'll be able to tell me, Keyes.

This concludes the file on the Dietrichson case.

W. Neff senior claims adjuster.