I am a killer, a poisoner by trade, and a thief by convenience. Of course, it was not always this way.
On this occasion, though, it was well past Twelvetide when I found myself in the inhospitable mountains north of Dunhill, away from its smokestacks and soot-stained hovels, riding through the cold and blinding snow to the country hall of Lord Melkor. I had been invited there by his son, Franz, because his Lordship refused to die in a timely manner and Franz required access to the family’s mine holdings. Franz had, it seemed, many gambling debts.
Such is the way of Dunhill’s nobility. I would complain, but it keeps me in food and powders.
I arrived at his Lordship’s manor as a storm blew in, snow so thick over the pass that the house guards couldn’t see me through the whiteout. This required of me the undignified task of yelling at the gatekeepers while keeping my near-frozen horse under control. Nonetheless, I was finally granted entrance so I could establish that I had, in fact, been invited and there was no need to turn me back out into the snow. I heard Chester’s ghost chuckle at this casual cruelty, but I ignored it, as I always must.
I knocked snow from my wide-brimmed hat as a servant guided my mount to the stables, I learned that Franz was not present and I would be dining with Lord Melkor alone. I was informed by another that the other guests had learned of the storm and remained in Dunhill. His tone suggested I should have done the same. An adjustment of the pistol and rapier on my baldric silenced that, though, and I was shown to my room.
While most guests would have been warming themselves by their room’s fire and changing into dinner attire, I peeled the frozen layers off me and snuck down into the kitchen. There I added some final ingredients to the meal.
It must be said that in certain circles of Dunhill I am a bit famous. Or infamous. It is, after all, how Franz Melkor came to know of my talents. However, it was interesting that when Lord Melkor descended to the dining hall I saw more recognition in his eyes than surprise at his servants absence.
“My son invited you,” he said with no other introduction. When I said he had, Melkor laughed as he hobbled to his seat. “Then sit and eat.”
I obeyed, knowing I had properly steeled myself against my additions to the meal. Melkor nibbled and sipped with the same nonchalance in which I consumed my first bowl of hearty winter stew.
After I finished, Lord Melkor said, “I would have the servants offer you more, but they seem conspicuously absent.”
“Indeed,” I replied while rising to ladle more into my bowl.
I returned to my seat while Melkor stared at me with his baleful old eyes. “In which dish did you place your poison?”
With no hesitation I indicated the entirety of the table’s spread with a circular gesture of my spoon. The old man merely laughed and said, “Of course.” His glared at me over his goblet. “Naturally, my servants have tested it. Does that explain their absence?”
I smiled. The servants were merely under the influence of a halothane, but I couldn’t resist a, “You suspected it was poisoned and yet you let your people eat it?”
Melkor waved a bony hand as if a mite hovered over his wine. “What does that matter? There’s not one of them that can’t be replaced.”
“Then why did you eat of it?”
Melkor laughed, a cantankerous and awful sound, throwing his head back in victory before responding, “I’m immune to your poison, Cole McDowell. Oh yes, I know you, poisoner.”
The casual sip I took from my cup robbed the old man of his satisfaction, confusion clouding his face as I said, “How would you prepare for a poison without knowing which one was used?”
Sensing an opportunity to gain the upper hand, Melkor laughed again. “I have an occultist under my thumb. The herbs she provides me with stays any toxin.”
“Oh,” I breathed it out slowly, as if remembering a forgotten detail. “You mean Lavinia, the herbalist?”
Lord Melkor’s mouth pinched at that. “That stupid witch has been under my thumb since I had her father thrown into debtor’s prison.” He picked up his glass and swung it with an enthusiasm he didn’t seem to have for anything else. “He only continues to live at my say-so. Otherwise, he could never afford the price of rations in that place.”
“True. Which is why I convinced your son to set him free.” Those words choked Melkor, wine dribbling down his chalky chin. It might have been surprise that caused that, but I knew it was something more. As such I stood and began making my way down the table. “Once you’re gone, of course.”
Melkor brought his hand to his throat, trying to clear his airway even as the poison closed it. I finished my wine, then set it down next to his lordship’s. “Lavinia is a dear friend of mine, my Lord. We compared notes before I came. While she has prescribed broad preventions for you, there were a few toxins we were able to select that work.”
His Lordship continued to choke, but managed to get out, “You have killed me?”
“Oh, no. Lavinia would never have been satisfied with that after all you’ve done. What was in the stew will hardly kill you. Combined with the Hircine root and other tinctures Lavinia gave you, though,” I paused, keeping a promise to my herbalist friend that Lord Melkor should understand his fate. “It will transform you.”
I could see this already happening in Melkor, his eyes bursting with new veins, his face stretching as his spine bent him into a new shape, paralyzing him in his chair. I dropped my napkin in his lap. “Naturally, I’ll leave a door open for you so you won’t be trapped in here to terrorize your servants when your metamorphosis is complete. You will still recognize them, but you won’t be able to control the beast you’ve become.”
I touched Melkor on his shoulder on my way out of the hall, leaning down to whisper, “Maybe shit on fewer people in your next life, Lord Melkor. Perhaps it’ll earn you a natural death.”
See the author’s published work here.
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