Last Life

Book 3: Chapter 17

I WENT DOWN SLOWLY, carefully scanning everything around. Which had already borne fruit. In the wall, on the level of the third step, I found the first magic mechanism. I had seen something distantly similar when I opened the ancient hiding spot in the house of Paul Lepetit’s gambling operation.

It was a magic trap of some kind. But this one was deactivated. When I opened the secret hatch with the medallion, I must have activated some kind of friend-foe system. And now, I was seemingly being perceived by the magic system as a “friend.”

I detected a second deactivated magic trap at the end of a stair to the second to last step. Ahem... Whoever built all this was hard to call a hospitable host.

I made it down the stairs and, continuing to scan everything around, took a short step forward and froze. What I saw sent an even fiercer shiver down my spine.

Stone shelves with all kinds of dishware and items lining the walls. A dozen chests of various sizes, several small rotund barrels in the far corner — I must have happened upon the old owners’ treasure chamber. The picture was completed by a wide stone shield with a fox’s face carved into it.

I took a close look again, breathed a sigh of relief and called out softly:

“Jacques! Bertrand! You can come down!”

A minute later, my friends were standing next to me with mouths agape, each holding a candelabra. The light of the ten candles cast our shadows on the wall and their heads touched the powerful joists holding up the stone ceiling. Scanning each joist, I concluded they were made of a material from the shadow. That was even more proof that the creator of this castle had ample financial capabilities.

Staring at what was before them, Jacques and Bertrand kept making strange gestures in front of themselves.

“I’ve heard of vaults like this,” Jacques came finally in a rasping voice. “They’re full of traps of all kinds.”

“Yes,” I nodded. “And so is this one. The stairwell for instance has two.”

Bertrand and Jacques both shuddered and looked with fear at the stairs, trying to make out the invisible traps they’d just walked past.

“The walls have several curious examples. And right beneath us I see a deep pit with sharp spikes at the bottom,” I added, causing Bertrand to gasp and Jacques to curse out in anger.

“Don’t fret,” I said calmly. “The traps will not harm us. Because we used the medallion to get in here. Which means the magic of this vault perceives us as its rightful owners.”

I heard two sighs of relief.

“How much is down here?” Jacques asked, stunned and looking around.

“That remains to be seen,” I nodded. “Bring more candles. I want to know the size of my inheritance.”

* * *

A few hours later, I was sitting upstairs in my office, rereading the list of contents of the vault in the light of day. We had composed it quickly to avoid attracting attention from the other castle residents with a long absence. Later, Bertrand could spend a few days composing an exhaustive inventory of the treasures.

The medallion was again hanging around my neck. The hatch was shut, and the rug back in place. Were a member of service staff to enter my office now, they’d never have guessed that beneath us was an ancient vault packed full of magic traps.

Pulling away from the reading, I glanced at the bas-relief on the wall and responded to the fox’s sly grin. It turned out the point of the picture was to be something of a clue with a false bottom.

While Jacques and Bertrand kept busy looking over everything on the shelves, I walked along the wall, discovering two doors camouflaged as masonry leading into underground passages.

They were simple to open. There were levers disguised as torch holders. Both underground passages led to the surface with exits into the eastern and western parts of the garden.

Yes, I discovered a few deadly surprises in the narrow tunnels waiting to take out anyone pursuing the castle’s owners, but nothing was too complex.

That was when I remembered the clever look on the carved fox’s face. In the picture, he was leading his family down a secret, third tunnel. Closely scanning and probing every rock on the wall, I finally found what I was looking for. The third passage. I pushed the stone that served as a button, activated the mechanism, and part of the wall slowly crept to the right.

While Jacques and Bertrand looked on in amazement, I refused to take a candelabra because I didn’t need it and walked down the tunnel. It led deep underground and ended in a dead end. But there, beneath one of the flat stones paving the tunnel floor, I managed to glimpse a magic mechanism. From it, thick tendrils stretched deep into the earth, blocking the last twenty paces of the tunnel like the bars of a cage. If any pursuers figured out the riddle of the bas-relief, this track would put an end to their plans.

I thought back and shivered... The fox on the bas-relief just had such a sly and bloodthirsty smirk.

But that was not all... I found another tunnel, number four. And whereas the previous three doors had standard mechanical locks, the way into the last was magic and wouldn’t open without the medallion.

The final underground passage I discovered led first into a small room, then snaked off to the north. I decided to study it the next time.

I took another look at the fox, shook my head, and went back to reading.

So, after a quick survey of the vault’s contents, I was now the proud owner of four barrels packed full of silver crowns and thalers of an old minting, as well as another smaller barrel of golden imperials, also of old minting.

Beyond the old Vestonian coins, my assistants discovered a silver chest containing gold and silver coins from the forgotten kingdoms arranged into neat stacks.

And on the stone shelves was a wide variety of dishware made of glass, porcelain, silver and gold covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. The boxes and chests made of shadow materials contained gemstones, multi-colored pearls, rings, earrings, bracelets, pendants and all kinds of other goodies. Almost every item was stamped with a crest.

And for an appetizer, so to speak, in a dark niche Jacques happened to find a shelf of dark bottles of various shapes. I spotted a very faint magic glow in almost all of them. My wine collection, which cousin François was so kind to gift to me, was today growing by a few dozen particularly valuable varieties.

Beyond jewelry, money, and dishware, on a broad marble table under a pile of dust covered by gray cobwebs, I found a couple sheets of paper with writing in magic ink. Apparently, this was once either a secret ledger, or the personal diary of the former occupant. The language written on them was unfamiliar both to me and my assistants.

On the table, I also discovered a scrap of a very primitive map rendered in a strange magic ink on the hide of what had clearly once been a shadow beast. Labels under the big fat dots were written in the very same unknown language. I would have to look deeper into this discovery.

I set the scroll aside and looked thoughtfully out the window. In the garden, Marc stood droning out something to a gardener in a wide-brimmed straw hat.

I would have to talk to my butler today. He most likely was not aware of the secret basement, but perhaps he could tell me more about the people who constructed this castle.

* * *

That evening, I dined alone. Jacques went off to meet up with some old war buddies. Candidates for my personal guard team.

Now, with a basement full of gold and silver, I could afford to push my timeline ahead slightly. Everything down there would be easy to sell through the Watchmaker. Yes, there were a lot of flashy items, but they weren’t as risky to sell as bruts.

And speaking of bruts... Down in the basement, specifically in a small room hidden behind a fourth door, in a long slot in the wall I discovered an energy reservoir feeding the whole system of traps and mechanisms. It was a large lilac brut bolted into the wall with four special brackets and its mana levels were at rock bottom.

I replaced the nearly empty crystal with another. Not quite as large but bursting with mana.

I was distracted from my thoughts about the discovery by a footman walking through the doors holding a tray. The butler, a marble statue frozen against the wall as ever, watched closely as his master was served.

“By the way, Marc,” I addressed the butler and looked around at the dining room. “I’ve been meaning to commend you for how well you look after the castle. I see a few traces of fresh paint. I was thinking someone should get to that.”

“You have my gratitude, Your Worship,” the butler tilted his head. “It is the duty of every servant to keep order in the house of their master.”

“And yet,” I came. “After dinner, I will instruct Bertrand to pay you out a five crown bonus for a job well done. On top of that, I want you to draw up a list of servants I could also reward with, let’s say, a silver crown. Let’s say three... Hm... No... How about five people? Bring them before me. I want to pay their bonuses myself.”

“You are very generous, monsieur,” the butler bowed.

And whereas not a single muscle twitched on Marc’s face, the pair of footmen standing at the wall were clearly very happy.

“I intend to give regular bonuses to all top performers,” I added some fuel to the fire, watching out of the corner of my eye as the footmen blushed more and more with excitement.

“As you wish, Your Worship,” the butler came, casting a sidelong icy gaze at his subordinates. Which made them instantly go pale.

“And another thing,” I came, pretending not to notice the body language. “Next week, I expect an attorney to visit, and I would like you to be there for our conversation. I will need a consultation from you.”

“As you like, Your Worship,” the butler looked slightly puzzled.

“By the way, I was meaning to ask,” I came, instantly changing the topic. “How often do you have to ‘patch holes’ in this building? When was it built?”

“As far as I know, monsieur, the castle was built over two hundred years ago,” Marc responded without hesitation. “And yes, at times we have to do a lot of renovation. But the majority of the work is interior decorating. The walls of this castle will stand for centuries and could even withstand a siege.”

“Remind me, who built this castle again...?”

“His Grace Duke Robert de Clairmont,” Marc replied.

“Most likely, the duke was very prudent and knew his way around defensive construction.”

The butler again shrugged his shoulders and answered:

“The only thing I know is that Robert de Clairmont was a passionate collector of antiquities. His descendants I have had the honor of serving often made mention of his passion and marvelous collection. They believed it to even contain several symbols of the authority of the kings and dukes of the forgotten lands.”

“How interesting!” I feigned surprise and frowned straight away: “You said ‘believed...’ Do the descendants of Robert de Clairmont no longer possess his collection?”

“Alas, it was lost,” Marc again shrugged his shoulders and, added with a slight conspiratorial smile: “They say the duke hid it somewhere very secret before the end of his days.”

I saw smiles on the footmen’ faces. There must have been a lot of tall tales about Robert de Clairmont’s collection.

“Is it possible we are currently directly above the treasures?” I snorted, stomping on the floor.

“No, Your Worship,” Marc shook his head and the footmen kept smiling. “There is nothing beneath the castle. It has been investigated by the duke’s descendants on a number of occasions. He even invited mages in.”

That information gave a lot of hope. But the duke must have been a real rogue. He didn’t want anyone to get his collection. Did gold take his mind in his old age? However, that story was probably so overgrown with rumor that it wasn’t possible to tell where the lie ended, and the truth began. Well, almost... Heh... I knew some things. When I decoded the records and figured out the map... I mentally rubbed my hands together. The de Clairmonts would be surprised to find out who managed to open their secret vault. Anyhow, that was most likely exactly why the duchess was willing to pay so much for the medallion. She must have known or guessed that it was the key to unlocking the mystery of her ancestor’s treasure.

“Very curious story,” I smiled. “I’m no longer so bored, Marc.”

The butler bowed with respect and, when I stood up from the table, I commanded the footmen to get to work.

Leaving the dining room, I headed to my office. I was unable to get seated properly in my chair before I heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I permitted.

It was Jacques. I nodded at a chair, waited for him to sit down, and asked:

“How’d it all go?”

“Not great,” the veteran replied, sitting back in the chair. Jacques smelled of sour beer, roast meat, cheap tobacco, and bad feelings. The meeting with his old army buddies must not have gone to plan.

“How so?”

“Some died, some are still in the service and fighting the Atalians, others have families and no longer want to take up arms,” Jacques replied.

“If your buddies don’t work out, we can hire other people,” I shrugged. “I just wanted to have dealings with people we could at least somewhat trust.”

Jacques was tense and angry. I wondered what was wrong with him. It was as if he wanted to tell me something but couldn’t make up his mind.

“Come on, talk to me,” I encouraged him.

Jacques sighed and, glancing at me from beneath his black brows, said decisively:

“There is one person. You might say the two of us traversed the entirety of Mainland shoulder to shoulder. A good fighter, good head on his shoulders. Saved my life in battle many times. I trust him like I trust myself.”

“Did he refuse?” I suggested when Jacques fell silent to gather his thoughts. “And you want me to talk to him personally?”

“It’s much more complicated than that,” Jacques muttered. “I wasn’t able to talk to him at all because he is presently located in the dungeon of the Herouxville city hall.”

“I see...” I came thoughtfully.

I had already heard of these dungeons several times. Popularly, they were known as the Herouxville Catacombs. One of the most infamous prisons in Vestonia.

Jacques shuddered and jerked forward.

“Luc Devers is no criminal! He is in prison for debts! It was usurers, may the abyss swallow them, that drove him to ruin.”

I sat in silence and, drumming my fingers on the tabletop, looked at Jacques.

“Are you sure there isn’t any other story behind his arrest?” I asked coldly.

“Luc may be many things, but he is no criminal,” Jacques replied sullenly.

“Any family?”

“An orphan like myself,” Jacques replied. “Never found a wife. I walked through the area asking around... I was told that Luc took out a loan. Opened a tavern in a crafters’ quarter in the old city. He always liked cooking. On campaigns, everybody knew that if Luc was working his magic at the pot, nobody would have stomach troubles.”

“And then?”

“They say he got off to a decent start. Customers praised his cookery from all around the quarter. All his tables were constantly booked. And he didn’t water down the beer. Then there was a fire...”

“Not competitors, I hope?” I suggested.

“That was what Luc thought, too. He went over to the long-established tavern on the other end of the street. Got into a fight. They say he got really beat up. He got laid up with a fever for a few days. Some good people helped and left. Then the bailiffs came and took him to prison. And that’s the whole story.”

Jacques breathed a heavy sigh. His gray face made for a fearsome sight. It was like he’d aged several years.

“What kind of money are we talking about?”

“I don’t know,” the veteran shrugged. “I tried to go see him. But got shooed away. They said he’d had his day in court. For a thaler, the old man hinted that all more or less fit male inmates and work campers were sent into the Legion of the Wretched.”

“And there, I assume, they don’t last long?” I asked rhetorically.

Jacques breathed a muted sigh.

“Alright,” I patted the table and Jacques glanced at me with hope. “Ready the buggy tomorrow early morning. I’m going to have to meet the provost of Herouxville.”