Jamie, having died heroically while helping Leech retrieve a strange red herb, now lay dead in his room.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," Leech said, ending the suffocatingly long prayer. The servants breathed a collective sigh of relief and looked up.
"Pitchfork, take some men and dig a grave in my garden," Leech said. "Jamie, my teacher, will be buried there. He will rest eternally in my garden until the Four Gods open their Divine Kingdom and invite him to enter. May the gods bless Sam."
Although turning a garden into a graveyard was bizarre, no one dared to object. The castle belonged to the Baron, as did they.
"May the gods bless Jamie!"
"May the gods bless Jamie!"
"May the gods bless Jamie!"
They clasped their hands to their chests. Jamie was their hero, and this era worshiped heroes.
'I've done right by you, my teacher,' Baron Leech thought. 'Turning a man who betrayed his lord and student into a hero.'
He had no qualms about bestowing glory upon the dead, but he was far less generous with the living.
He went to Jamie's room. Ignoring the corpse on the bed, its chest caved in, Leech focused on the red plant on the table, its roots still caked with dirt.
"A scholar might know what this is."
'It's highly likely,' he thought, 'that the giant, fiery-red beast ate this to become so enormous and unusual. But eating the precious herb all at once would be a waste. I should try planting it first, see if I can cultivate it.'
'Then again, a Magic plant must have demanding environmental needs. I have to be ready. At the first sign of it withering, I'll just eat it. Or if not me, I can feed it to something else.'
Leech took the Fire Red Grass back to his room and planted it in the crypt. The environment there was much like the bear's cave—dark, damp, and eerily cold.
By the time he had washed the dirt from his hands and returned to the ground floor of the castle, his butler, Simon, was walking toward him. "My lord, the cook, Barrel, has finished dissecting the behemoth. Unfortunately, we didn't find the... stone you mentioned inside. What should we do with the carcass?"
"Let's go have a look."
The meat had been carved into chunks and piled high.
Spread on the floor was a relatively intact bearskin, large enough to cover three beds.
"My lord!" Barrel saw Leech arrive and immediately tried to bow, attempting to create a crease in his round belly. He failed. His waist wouldn't bend that far. From Leech's perspective, it just looked like a strained nod.
But Leech wasn't about to be too harsh on one of the few skilled people in his castle.
"This is too much meat," Barrel said uncertainly. "We could try making blood sausage or jerky, but there's still far too much. I've never worked with bear meat."
"Then try making smoked and cured meat," Leech said.
"Smoked... cured meat?"
"I'll teach you."
Without realizing it, Barrel, the cook of Porcupine Castle, had become the hands through which the Baron recreated his favorite dishes.
Leech explained the process in great detail, slowly dispelling Barrel's skepticism. At first, the idea of "smoking" meat sounded like one of the nobility's wasteful pastimes.
Leaving Barrel to mull over the instructions, Leech turned to his butler. "Does Porcupine Territory have any craftsmen? Blacksmiths, carpenters, masons?"
"None," Simon answered, a bit embarrassed. "Because your father, the late Baron Lierde, was a Warrior who lived for glory. He..."
Right. The 'prickly' Baron had been focused on nothing but war. He couldn't be bothered with managing his domain; the spoils of victory were enough for Lieder to keep his men well-fed and strong.
But when the wars ended, Baron Lierde was left impoverished.
He was a classic cautionary tale.
'So, building up the territory is the only way forward.'
"Go to Iron Stone City and sell this bearskin," Leech said. "I'm sure plenty of nobles and merchants will be scrambling for this... uh... *complete*—yes, *complete*—bearskin. The scars are a testament to the ferocity of the battle. I want you to give them a detailed account of the Warg Slayer's heroism to emphasize the true value of this massive pelt."
No one would question the immense effort it would take to kill such a colossal bear. But if word got out that mere farmers helped, the price would surely drop.
That was why Leech needed a legendary tale to go with it. A story attached to a pelt of this size would naturally be more believable.
"Come to my study in a bit," Leech said. "I'll give you all the details of the 'story'."
"Yes, my lord," the butler nodded.
The Baron continued, "While you're in Iron Stone City, pick up the herbs I need. Also buy some iron ore, seeds, grain, and some books—any kind will do. And messenger ravens. See if any blacksmiths, carpenters, or masons are willing to relocate here; I'm willing to pay them well. I've also heard they sell slaves in Iron Stone City. Our territory is underpopulated. We need an infusion of fresh blood."
"My apologies, my lord," Simon said with a bow. "Craftsmen are considered the private property of their liege. I doubt the lord of Iron Stone City would allow it."
"Then ask about others. Apprentices are fine, too." Leech had plenty of ideas but no practical skills. As the lord, he didn't need to get his own hands dirty. He just needed to be an armchair strategist, pointing and giving orders... It wasn't the most flattering self-assessment, but the reality was he would provide specifications that were ahead of their time, and the baffled craftsmen would simply have to build according to his instructions.
"I will keep an eye out for slaves, my lord," Simon said. "And I'll also be on the lookout for some cleaning maids who are a bit more dexterous and tidy, and a little less... careless."
Leech recognized that his butler was snitching. He raised a hand to cut him off. "That's enough, Simon. Get a good night's rest. You leave tomorrow."
'He was fine with his servants keeping each other in check, but he had no interest in hearing petty, unsubstantiated complaints. The cleaning maid's sweeping was a bit vigorous, true, and it kicked up some dust, but that could be solved by sprinkling a little water. Besides, whose fault was it that his castle couldn't afford smooth stone floors? No matter how carefully you swept, a floor like that would always be dusty.'
'At least you didn't see animal droppings on the floors anymore.'
'By the same token, he wouldn't silence the butler completely. He didn't need the servants in this castle to be one big happy family. If they united, wouldn't he be their next target?'
After giving the cook, Barrel, a few more reminders about smoking and air-curing the meat, Leech and his butler left. Barrel remained behind, scratching his head as he contemplated the process.
Among a group of servants in the corner, the young maid pouted and mimicked Simon's voice. "My apologies, my looord~"
She was clearly pursing her lips to mimic a snooty expression, but the effect was poor, and she just looked comical.
Lady Sparrow giggled but still gently chided her. "Mr. Simon is a gentleman. We shouldn't make fun of him behind his back."
"So we're just supposed to let him badmouth us behind our backs? No, he does it right in front of us!" the young maid muttered indignantly. "I already try to sweep as slowly as possible, but this castle is huge! Every room, every staircase... I'm not complaining, I like the work, but if I don't go fast, I could work for a day and a night without sleep and still not be done! The Baron never complains about the dust. He just smiles and tells me to rest if I'm tired, as long as the job gets finished. Unlike that... that rabbit!"
She gritted her teeth. "The way he holds his fingers all pinched together, and talks in that reedy voice... like he's actually a... a what's-it-called?"
Lady Sparrow immediately supplied the word, "A 'sir.' That's what the nobles call each other."
"Right, a 'sir'!" the little maid nodded. "Well, he's no 'sir'! Hmph!"