Perfect Shadows

chapter 37

Northumberland tossed in his shabby bed for an hour before giving up and arising. The bedding was musty and the rushes on the floor needed changing. His sharpened senses were far less tolerant of the odors produced by neglect. He would have to move out while the residence was cleaned and sweetened, a process he lately found had to be repeated two or three times a year, where once had sufficed before. Immortality, it seemed, was going to be a costly indulgence.

He went into his study and lit the candle, turning his attention to the stained and battered manuscript Sommers had brought to him. The dialect was obscure, and the book, a Latin translation of an Arabic original text, appeared to have been pulled hastily from a fire at some point. He ground his teeth at the thought of the priceless manuscripts that had been lost from his own collection the night of the fire. He had only lately learned that the boy had been rescued and that the fire had been set in an attempt to cover the deed. He added these grievances to the mental tally that he kept, and set light to the small brazier of coal laid ready nearby, rubbing his numb fingers together in the meager warmth for a moment before picking up his pen. Sometime later a slight sound behind him told of Sommers’ return.

“Did you make the arrangements?” Percy asked without looking around.

“Aye, I did, but this will not be contrived at a twelve-penny fee, my lord. The risks are too great,” and Sommers named a sum large enough to cause the earl to turn and stare at him in amazement. “Aye, but that’s the least amount. An you want it done, that’s the price. The date’s been set, and the man but awaits your word.”

“Tell him I agree.” Percy studied the candle flame for a moment, edging his quill into the flame until it began to smolder, then quickly jerking it away. The smell of burned feathers permeated the chamber, masking the noxious odors that rose from the rushes in this room as well. “About the other matter,” the earl added, clearing his throat, “have you found anyone suitable?” Sommers nodded, furtively licking his lips.

“Do you wish to see?” he asked, and Percy followed his limping servant from the chamber to the little room in the second cellar. There was a man laying there in the straw, shackled, but with fetters that had been well wrapped with rags, to avoid galling the skin beneath. He turned vacant eyes to the light, and gazed uncaring at his observers. He was a tall thin man, with thinning sandy hair, narrow eyes over a hawk’s beak of a nose, and a thin-lipped mouth. The resemblance was not remarkable, but it was there. Northumberland rubbed his hands together in delight.

“Oh yes, well done, Newman. He is very well. Where did you find him?” He bent to get a closer look.

“Up on the borders, my lord. May he be distant kin, think you? He has the Percy look to him.” Sommers winked vulgarly, and Percy brushed the possibility aside impatiently, much to his companion’s secret amusement. Percy would be using his own half-brother for this purpose, and would neither admit it, nor allow it to be suggested. “I shall see him bestowed tomorrow, then.”

“Yes, yes. He will suit us admirably. See to it, Newman, but return as soon as you may.”