Baron Assassin: Chapter 14

It only took Varal one look at the condition of the Jareks’s estate to recognize the true desperation of their current plight. Pains had been taken by someone to keep the gate and exterior of the walls clear, but the interior told another story. The grounds were largely overgrown, no doubt because the knight could no longer afford the servants required to tend them. There was a lone guard at the gate, and he looked to be well past his prime. Although, depending on whether the man had magic, that might actually make him more rather than less dangerous.

The manor was a study in contradiction. In terms of pure size, it looked to be almost as big as Varal’s own manor back in the barony. That manor was far too large, since it only housed himself, Marida, and their servants. Most of the manor was closed off for all intents and purposes, with the furniture covered, and anything too delicate moved to the areas of the building in active use. It all spoke to a time when a very large and extended family had lived there. Varal kept intended to look into the history of the former baron and his family, but there never seemed to be the time. He could always hire someone to do the work, but it seemed wasteful for what was, in the end, nothing but his own idle curiosity.

That the knight held a similarly large manor told of a time of surprising wealth in the past, and likely another large family. Yet, most of the windows were darkened. With his Night Sight, Varal could see that the roof was in poor condition. If it didn’t need repairs already, it likely would in the very near future. No wonder Remen can’t afford to eat, thought the baron. If they can’t fix their own roof, they can’t have a copper to spare for him. Shaking his head, he looked into the carriage. Daran sat there, holding an unsheathed dagger. He was eyeing the unconscious gang leader, whose injured hand had been roughly bandaged. That seemed to more an effort to keep him from bleeding too much inside the carriage than anything else.

“Once you’re somewhere relatively secure and secluded, send the carriage back with two of the guards. I expect that you can handle him,” Varal thrust his chin at the gang boss, “by yourself. So, two extra bodies should be sufficient.”

“More than sufficient, baron.”

“Good.”

Closing the door, Varal turned his attention to the Jareks’s guard, who had take up a position a respectful distance away.

“Baron Harven,” said the man with a bow.

He had a gruff, weathered voice that seemed to speak to long days in barren places.

“My people need to go attend to a separate matter. They should return within an hour or two.”

“Very good, baron.”

Varal waited as the guard let the carriage back out of the gate. The old guard came back to lead him to the house. That was another sign of the crushing poverty at play. There should have been at least one servant available to come out, greet a visiting noble, and lead them to Sir Jareks. Their absence spoke volumes. The guard took surreptitious peeks at him as they walked. Varal suspected the man wanted to say something or ask something but wasn’t sure how it would be received.

“Yes?” asked Varal the next time the guard looked at him.

“Forgive me, my lord. I meant no offense.”

“I wasn’t offended. Is there something you wished to say?”

“Well—” started the man before trailing off.

“Speak your mind. I was a commoner for a long time before I was a noble. You won’t injure my pride with a few blunt words.”

The man seemed to weigh all that before he offered a single, sharp nod.

“I just wanted to say that Sir Jareks is a good man. He’s also an honest man, but—” he hesitated again.

“But being honest isn’t necessarily a virtue for a noble,” supplied Varal. “It’s more likely to get you into trouble than out of it.”

“No offense intended, but yes. That’s exactly it, baron. Sir Jareks is too honest, and he expects the same from others.”

It wasn’t much of a stretch to understand what the man was trying to get across. Remen’s father was honest to the point of naivety. The guard was asking without asking if Varal had come to take advantage of that fact. And maybe also pleading a little that he not take advantage if that was his purpose there.

“I’ve come to discuss their son and his future. That’s all,” said Varal.

A smile bloomed on the gruff man’s face when he asked, “Is the young master well?”

Varal decided that a half-truth was probably the right course of action, since it was obvious that no one here was in a position to help the boy.

“He’s excelling in his studies, according to my daughter.”

The guard nodded enthusiastically.

“Aye. That’s good. That’s good. He was always a bright one. Always reading.”

By then, they were at the door. The guard reached out, seized the tarnished door knocker in a hand, and used it to rap twice. When no one opened the door, the guard let out a world-weary sigh and used the door knocker again, rapping repeatedly with it. The door abruptly swung open to reveal a flustered, painfully thin girl of maybe fifteen. Dark eyes peered up at him like obsidian gems, and her dark hair was pulled back into a complicated braid. She was wearing a nice dress, or what had probably been a nice dress at some point. It looked as worn as Remen’s clothes had looked back in the capital. He thought the girl bore some resemblance to the young man—a sister, perhaps—but Varal wasn’t certain enough to give voice to that thought.

“B-Baron Harven?” asked the girl.

The guard let out another soft sigh and said, “I present His Lordship, Baren Harven.”

The girl curtsied as Varal inclined his head. Then, she just stared at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. She rocked a little from side to side as the silence stretched out.

“Take him to see your father,” said the guard in a gentle voice.

“Right!” she shouted.

Then, she turned around and dashed off. Varal looked at the guard.

“She the sweetest child alive, my lord. Not an ounce of unkindness in her. But the goddess doesn’t always give in equal measure.”

It said a lot about just how dearly the man held the girl that he’d gone to such lengths to avoid saying she hadn’t gotten Remen’s intelligence. Varal nodded in understanding. He wouldn’t have been cruel in any case, but he made a mental note to be especially forgiving with her. A moment later, the girl came racing back, cheeks bright red. She directed a smile at him that was equal parts nervous anxiety and hopefulness.

“Please come with me, baron,” she half said, half asked, her head tilted a little to one side.

“Of course, young miss. Please lead the way.”

Relief radiated off the girl like heat from a stove as she nodded.

“This way.”

The path through the manor was no less depressing than the view from outside. It was clear that many things had been sold off recently from the varied discolorations on the walls. There were darker places where art and cabinets had once been. Not that having her inheritance sold off seemed to have affected the girl in any way. She hummed a happy little melody as she walked. Varal wondered if the girl was simply uncomprehending about what was happening. Then, he wondered if her apparent ignorance had left her better off than the rest of her family. The girl opened a door and disappeared into the room in a rush. He could hear her excited words.

“Mama! Papa! I brought him!”

“Aima,” he heard a gently chiding woman’s voice. “You’re supposed to introduce him.”

“I am?” said the disheartened girl. “I’m sorry, Mama. I forgot.”

Varal entered the room then. The girl was standing in front of a woman who looked like an older version of the same person. Next to the woman stood a tall man. He had bright blue eyes, dark hair that had started to silver, and broad shoulders.

“Sir Jareks? Lady Jareks?”

“Baron Harven,” said the man, nodding deeply. “Welcome to our home. Please forgive Aima—”

Varal held up a hand and said, “She was a perfectly pleasant guide. There’s nothing to forgive.”

The girl spun away from her mother and directed a smile of such pure joy at him that Varal almost took a step back. That kind of innocence is a dangerous thing, he thought. Mostly for her. The expressions of undiluted gratitude her parents direct at him better explained why the guard had spoken the way he had. These people are not cut out to be nobles, he thought, even as did his best to maintain his composure.

“Baron,” said Lady Jareks. “We’re grateful that you lent us your man, Jarem. Our cook is getting quite old. But providing the food yourself—”

He waved it off.

“Think nothing of it. I gave you almost no notice. It was the least I could do to help smooth the way.”

Dismissing all of it gave everyone an out. An out they all desperately wanted so they could avoid discussing the brutal evidence of the knight’s inability to host his own family, let alone a visiting baron.

“Jarem has been training for some time with my head cook. Think of this as a test for him as much as anything else.”

“Well, let us hope he passes,” said Sir Jareks. “The meal should be ready shortly, but perhaps you’d like some entertainment. Aima, would you play a song for us?”

Aima, whose head had been turning back and forth as the adults spoke, started a little at hearing her own name. Then, she smiled shyly and looked at Varal.

“Do you want to hear a song?”

“I would happy to hear a song, young miss.”

The small group moved to another room that was also largely bare, with one exception. There was a glorious piano made of rich mahogany that had been polished to a high shine. It astounded him that they hadn’t sold the piano. It was clearly valuable. He noticed Sir Jareks and his wife move closer together, their gazes fixed on Aima as she walked over, sat down on the bench, and placed her fingers on the keys. That was when Varal witnessed a miracle. It was the only word he could think to use. It was the only word that could do what he was seeing the justice it deserved.

The silly, innocent girl’s fingers moved over the keys with an effortless grace. Her eyes were closed and a gentle smile graced her face. The sounds that rose from that piano were, at turns, haunting, uplifting, and transcendent. Varal didn’t know how long he stood there, transfixed by Aima’s playing. Time had ceased to have any meaning. He only knew when it was over because something in his heart wrenched as the music stopped. The girl got up from the bench and walked part of the way to him. Her head tilted and a look of confusion crossed her face.

“Did you like it?” she asked hesitantly.

Varal stepped over to the girl.

“You are gifted beyond words,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Yes. Yes, I liked it very much.”

Then, because he didn’t know how else to express his appreciation, he pressed a gold coin into her hand. It was an absurd amount of money for a girl her age living in the country. He’d made himself stop at one because he worried more would overwhelm her.

“Such skill should be rewarded,” he said in answer to the unasked question on her face.

“Thank you,” she said in a tone that suggested she’d been told that was the right thing to say.

Turning away, she walked over to her father and held out the coin. It told Varal that the girl did understand what was happening to her family. At least, she understood that they didn’t have any money. The expression on Sir Jareks’s face twisted into something very close to physical pain. He needed that money. Everyone in the room knew it. So, when he reached out and closed his daughter’s hand around the coin, even Varal was impressed.

“That’s yours, Aima. You earned it. You should keep it.”