Chapter 45: Devin Whittlebut: Schemer’s Homecoming

  Devin took in the woody air and aroma of his old family estate. He lingered for several days in a filthy inn, sleeping on an ale-soaked mattress that reeked of vomit—and then the noise and soaked flooring. He was glad to be home. A musty smell hung in the air, but it was to be expected. Fortunately, the crown hadn’t seized his old estate, giving him a chance to return. All he needed was to throw some gold at the problem, and it would go away in time. The Queen must’ve thought she was clever, leaving Devin with nothing but a Town Deed, but she had underestimated him.

  Now, all that remained was his reputation, or rather, the lack of one. He wasn’t worried. Devin would use his contacts to get the good name Whittlebut back to the peak of noble society. He’d make sure all those who’d ever spoken his name, laced with spit and venom, would rue the day they did; the day they sent him away.

  Preparations were already complete. His friends from his school days so many years ago still had his back; Avrille and Mordecai. Both were below Devin’s station, but genuine friendship didn’t care about station. Sure, there were times when their relationship strained—lately, in particular—but if they couldn’t survive an argument or two, were they even friends?

  Promises were made and support given. Even now, just one day after Devin wrought back the reins of his old trade house, he gave Avrille de Santas his due, for his years of unwavering support. As the new head of the Whittlebut trade house, his station would no longer be an issue. In a year, he’d be able to buy himself an estate, becoming a minor noble, like he had always wanted.

  Not everyone was in it for the money. Mordecai, that pale-faced shut-in, was in it for adventure, mystery, skills and, not least, research. While his studies were vile, Devin would’ve never got back to his old home without his help.

  Behind Devin, an entourage of hired maids and cleaners sped past him, seeing the state of the place. As they scurried, clouds of dust rose from their surroundings, making breathing a genuine effort.

  “Never go near the basement,” Whittlebut ordered, straining his voice to make sure everyone got the picture. The new hires remained silent after the order, just as they should. Excellent.

  A pounding sounded from the door just behind him; the knock was familiar after so many years. Devin shoved the heavy door open. He had no butler yet.

  “Avrille, old friend,” Devin said with a welcoming smile. The trader scuttled past him, entering the mansion.

  “Paperwork took a while, I take it. All good now?”

  Devin pulled the doors back, shutting them with a loud slam of wood against stone. “It always does. But it’s all mine now—the estate, the trade house, the mines. All of it.”

  “You’ll need help to get it all back up and running.”

  “I can deal with the estate. You already have the trade house. As for the mines, I was contemplating keeping them closed. I know a certain light-evasive fellow who’d love the aesthetics of the place. He’s already below. Let’s go greet him.”

  The pair brushed past the cleaning women and headed down a dark, narrow staircase sheltered behind a door with a large lock. Below, a cold, dusty stone floor met their feet, dust rising like mist to greet them. Avrille looked around, finding no trace of the third man.

  “Not here. I said below, did I not?”

  “You have a cellar beneath your cellar? Sounds like what they say about noblemen is true,” Avrille giggled to himself.

  “What do they say?” the noble asked.

  “Too much money and time on their hands.”

  “One can never have too much of either,” Devin argued, though with a chuckle. He pulled a set of thick iron chains hanging from the wall near a corner of the unlit cellar. The repeated clanging of chained rings filled the air as a mechanism whirred to life behind the wall. A section of floor rose in response, breathing in a colossal amount of stale air and ancient dust. A wheezing cough sounded from below, with a familiar cadence behind it. Devin gestured for his trader friend to go ahead.

  After climbing down a steeper staircase than earlier, the nobleman pulled another set of chains, and the ceiling closed. A dim light, warm like candlelight but weaker, welcomed the pair into a tight cubby. There sat a ragged man, pale as chalk, with black eyes and veins contrasting his sun-hungry skin.

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  “Friends!” Mordecai beamed, raising his arms in a welcoming gesture even as he remained seated in his chair in front of the large, wooden desk.

  “How did you get in here?” de Santas asked with a chuckle as he strode to clasp hands with his old friend. It had only been days since they last saw each other, arriving in Ercheat together, the three of them. Like always, Mordecai had been quick to disappear, though. Had he been here all along?

  “A tunnel system designed for quick escape. It leads to the sewers—”

  “Not like I’ll ever need to know,” de Santas then interrupted the nobleman, flashing a grin at him. “So, what’s the plan, then? Live and make merry like in the good old days?”

  “Something like that,” Devin said. “I must admit I wouldn’t mind giving the Queen what she deserves, but I’m far from oblivious enough to think we have a chance of doing that. For now, until an opportunity reveals itself, that’s what we’ll do.”

  “So, did you hear?” the trader said mere moments later, rubbing his hands together.

  “Hear?” Devin asked with minor intrigue lacing his words.

  “I heard a rumour. Something happened just as recent as our arrival here. If you’re lucky, it might even provide the opportunity you’re looking for.”

  Devin’s face twitched, showing what intrigue his voice had restrained before.

  “Got your attention? It just so happens that not far from where that silly little money-grabbing scheme of yours took place, a new town popped up.”

  “I fail to see the relevance,” Devin said.

  “Let me finish, spoilsport. See, this town can’t be found on any charters or maps, because it doesn’t have a town-central building yet.”

  “You’re losing my attention,” Devin sneered.

  Avrille chuckled with glee, once more rubbing his hands together. “There’s supposedly an effigy of Arcana there. It popped up overnight, in some kind of storm.”

  A chill grew along Devin’s arm hairs, making them stand at attention. His intrigue was back, tenfold. De Santas laughed at the sudden shift in his friend’s demeanour.

  “Odd, isn’t it?”

  Devin nodded. “A feat, no doubt. But again, I fail to see the relevance.” Whittlebut grew anxious, knowing his friend teased him, keeping him on edge. He was withholding further details.

  “Ah, right. Relevance. Hmm. Was there more?” He feigned forgetful.

  Even Mordecai laughed to himself as the trader revelled in his naughtiness.

  “Avrille…”

  “All right, all right. See, an effigy in the middle of nowhere? That can happen, right? We’re all agreed that there’s an above-zero per cent chance of that happening?”

  “No!” Mordecai burst.

  “I agree with the necromancer,” Devin added, shifting his body and wrapping his arms around his chest. “Get to it.”

  “But what are the chances that this effigy—of the Lady herself—is showing her proud and raised middle-finger direct against the Queen’s Seat, the City of Ercheat itself?”

  Devin froze while Mordecai’s did the opposite. The thin, cloaked man leaned back in laughter, arms clenching his gut as if he risked losing his constituent parts. A loud, high-pitched and groaning laugh filled the cubby, removing some of the latent tension behind the trader’s surprising words.

  “They say she’s sending her oldest to investigate. Did I mention the town wasn’t founded by one of her deeds?”

  Now even the necromancer stilled, dark eyes widening as he faced de Santas.

  “I didn’t? Oh, well, there’s also that.”

  A town founded without a deed. An effigy of Arcana disrespecting the Queen herself. What did it all mean? How was it even possible? Something as suspect as that would of course force the Queen to investigate! But how could Devin use the situation to benefit him? He thought. He spiralled. Was this near Brook Town? Would the Queen suspect him? Surely not! If these rumours had been circulating for a few days, he’d never have got his papers approved if that was the case.

  “The Ice Princess?” Mordecai’s mouth widened again. “I’d love to take a whiff of her magic again.”

  “Her two oldest. Prince Chaste has returned to Ercheat.”

  The Ice Princess and the Flame Prince? The Queen wouldn’t let those two go somewhere without a regiment of powerful guards. Security around the castle would be lighter, then. For some time, at least.

  What was he thinking? What was he planning to do in the castle, of all places?

  “Avrille.” Devin’s voice was tainted with cold steel. “When do they leave?”

  “Did you know your face scrunches up very particularly when you’re planning something untoward?” the trader said with a contained laugh.

  “That’s true,” said Mordecai, analysing Devin’s face. “Like now.”

  “When do they leave?”

  “Tomorrow,” said de Santas.

  Not enough time!

  Devin’s eyes shifted back and forth, side to side—his mind cluttered with poorly stowed away thoughts, a hundred pieces of ill-conceived parts of plans both old and new. He puzzled them together, finding pieces that fit, stowing the others away for another day.

  The Queen would remain, but her thoughts would lie elsewhere. The younger princess and her vermin younger brother would be there as well, but they didn’t pose as high a risk. What age was the older of them now—fourteen? Wouldn’t pose a problem. As for guards, the Queen was sure to send more than needed, willing to risk the safety of the castle more than that of her children. No one in their right mind would take her on, after all. A nefarious schemer was more likely to go after her two children than her and the castle.

  “Gentlemen,” Devin Whittlebut said, having pieced together enough thoughts for a makeshift plan. “We don’t have much time. Let’s talk about our next business venture. I’m thinking this mansion is a bit smaller than I remember. Let’s see if we can’t find a castle-sized upgrade.”

  Mordecai’s black eyes glistened with curiosity, whilst de Santas rubbed his hands together.

  “What a surprising development,” the trader chuckled.