Noble Arcana

I don’t envy the men that were in charge of organizing the imperial calendar. Having to balance the number of days and holidays between thirteen months named after those that could ruin your life and kill your family is a rough assignment.

High Minister Proust

Solomon looked at the five large pots of soil he’d gathered and placed in his lab. It had been exhausting to move each of them inside, especially while he was hiding his actions from the staff. He’d taken the pots from where Poth had gathered several dozen from throughout the manor’s interior. They’d once contained fresh flowers all throughout it, but had never been replaced. Filling them with soil hadn’t been too difficult as much of the soil had been churned when the garden was cleared. Moving the pots after they’d been filled with soil though, had tested the limits of his strength. He was breathing heavily and coated in a film of dirt by the time he was done that made him wish to immediately have a bath.

Gathering the remaining materials hadn’t been too difficult. There were fresh eggs and milk in the kitchens and they were both stored in the larder on stone shelves, and they’d had pumpkin soup only a few days prior giving him access to fresh gourds. As for clay, Solomon was able to find a large bucket full of it among his uncle’s alchemy ingredients at the desk. He assumed it had been used in the construction of Victor’s own homonculi.

After he had all of the materials gathered, he began. He took a bowl and began working the half-pound of clay within it, rolling and unrolling it until it became pliable. He then poured the drachm of blood into it, and then carefully pushed mana into the blood and clay as he mixed it. His mana was dead calm as he did so, like it was when he’d done the blood control spell. The book was unclear about how much mana to infuse, so he kept it conservative. Based on his observations and what he’d seen at the Arcana he had more mana than most and didn’t want to overdo it. Once he was done he mixed the milk and egg, then formed the clay in a rough approximation of a man. He placed it gently into one of the hollowed out pumpkins and then poured the egg and milk mix into it. He then sealed it and placed it gently into one of the pots, covering it with dirt.

Once he was done gently patting the dirt on top of it flat he went back to the clay and began the process again. When he was done he looked at the five pots with satisfaction. Even if he had failed one or two, he should still have something to work with.

He did a mental check of the time and found that he should have just enough time to clean up and get a few hours of sleep. He was tempted to move on to the second phase of creating the Paternal Protection circle, but he would have a week until his creations were complete anyway.

His theory was that he could use the golems as the subjects of the paternal protection. They shared the same blood as him after all, and that seemed to be the primary factor in the workings of the other spell. If he failed, it would at the very least be a learning experience, but if he succeeded then he would have a way of keeping himself protected when he confronted the Lord of the Black Wood.

He sighed and moved to the exit to the hidden chamber. Between the dirt, clay, and blood he needed to bring in a pot of water and a few towels so that he could clean himself. A task for later.

He pressed on the rune that allowed him to exit and whispered a thank you to the suit of armor as he passed it. He then crept through the halls until he reached his room. A bath wasn’t an option, but he did have a basin of water and a towel kept in his chamber at all times. He cleaned himself as thoroughly as he could and then lay in bed. His wounded side hurt, the cut on where he’d drawn blood pulsed, and his arms and legs ached from his exertions both that night and just a day ago when he’d saved the trapper. In spite of all those discomforts though, he quickly fell asleep, his exhaustion outweighing them.

The author’s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

He awoke the next morning feeling roughly the same degree of physically miserable as he had the previous. He got up and sat at his desk, hearing Melissa’s customary knock at the door as he settled .

“Come in,” he said, idly looking at the old paper he’d left at his desk.

She entered holding an orange bundle of fur.

Solomon looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a gift from Colm Brightly, the trapper. One of the temporary workers brought it here on his behalf. It’s a thank you for getting him out of the wood.”

Solomon nodded and accepted the fur. It was complete and well preserved. He guessed it was the same fox he’d brought out of the trap. As it was complete he could likely wear it as a stole in winter.

“I’ll have to thank him when I see him again,” he gently placed the fox on his desk. “Could you bring me fresh water for my basin as well as soap and a towel? And have Claire make me more of that liver with my breakfast if she could. I’ve developed a taste for it.” He was lying, but if he was going to be drawing more blood he wanted to ensure he was as healthy and hale as he could be.

He took his time cleaning himself and eating his breakfast before opting for one of his purple suits along with his uncle’s green vest. He noticed it had a number of small useful pockets in it already, and he slid his blood vials into them carefully. Clean and in fresh clothes he felt much more ready to tackle the day. He gave a few nods to his servants and the additional laborers he’d hired as he walked out to his carriage.

At the Watchman Station he stepped out and exchanged brief greetings before entering his office where he found Feist pouring over a few documents. He looked up as Solomon and adjusted his reading glasses. He was an older man with gray hair and a bookish disposition. He’d been a teacher and private tutor in the past and so had the reading and writing skills necessary to act as a secretary.

He stood quickly. “Sorry, Lord. I hadn’t realized you’d be in yet. I’ll clear my things.”

Solomon held up a hand as he handed his coat and walking stick to Melissa. “It’s quite all right. Please, take your time.”

Feist nodded, but still moved quickly to organize and move his things.

“Did Vantus not provide you with a desk?”

“He did Lord, but it’s quite loud out there. I appreciate having a full guard allotment here again, but they are quite a boisterous bunch.”

Solomon smiled. “Understandable. Feel free to use this office when I’m not here.” He moved to sit behind the now cleared desk. “Now, before you leave, how are things progressing?”

Feist moved to sit at the chair across from him while Melissa went out to get him coffee.

“The funds to begin work on the road are available, we have selected a number of workers based on your recommendations, and have settled on beginning work during the month of Morrow.”

Solomon sighed. “I hope that was chosen for a reason other than being the month named after my family.”

“We’ll have the material available then and the weather won’t yet have turned too cold. Merely a coincidence, Lord.”

Solomon nodded. The thirteen months of the year were named after each of the thirteen families. Even the Dentus family had kept their month even though they’d been stricken from every other element of Drakthiss life since their betrayal.

The rest of his time at the office was spent mapping out the road and deciding what areas would be opened up to redirect traffic. There wasn’t much to redirect, but it was best to be organized if possible. Once they were done Solomon did a bit of paperwork before leaving to head back to the manor.

Once he was back he forced himself to walk the halls until he arrived at the small ballroom where he found Barnabus, his brother Bart, and the mason and carpenter he’d temporarily hired on. They were older men, with gray hair and mottley beards. Their hands were thickly callused, but their eyes were sharp and clear. He recalled that their names were Simon and Bovi. They were in the middle of conversation as he approached.

“- cut doesn’t need to be perfect for this one, since it won’t be seen. It can be half shite or whole shite as long as it’s mostly right,” said Simon, angling his hand to draw a line across a piece of flat wood.

“Which is good since that nub of yours isn’t going to help you keep things steady,” added Bovi, prompting a chuckle from the other older man.

Solomon could see Bart tightening his grip on a hammer and Barnabus self-consciously hiding his missing hand again.

It seemed the reason for their lack of chemistry wasn’t going to be difficult to determine.