Chapter 7 Part 2

Tyson was enjoying himself thoroughly. He was presently conducting an interview with a store keeper in Keron. The store keeper was actually an agent of House Blackheart. But with the recent changes within that dynastic structure, the agent had concluded that he had been relieved of all obligations to the House successor. Tyson had come to remind him of his duty.

At that moment, Tyson was speaking to the gentleman. The shop keeper, for his part, was tied and bound and sitting in a chair in the back room of his apothecary shop. The stockroom was in excellent condition inventory-wise. Several tomes containing hundreds of alchemical formulations lined a shelf over a desk in one corner. The other three walls were crowded by shelf upon shelf of beakers, flasks, and bags of various solutions, substances, and powders.

"Our lord Morteous is very upset with your failure to carry out your assignments," Tyson told him. "He’s asked me to swing by and inquire if you’re in need of aid." Tyson picked up a beaker from a table. He inspected it critically. He rubbed a finger along the bottom where a very light trace of dust had collected. He frowned and tisked with disappoint. "Messy messy," he accused.

"I was not appointed by Morteous Blackheart," the prisoner retorted.

"You were appointed by Serpent Blackheart?"

"That’s right," the store keeper claimed.

"But you were appointed as an agent of whom?"

The store keeper swallowed. "House Blackheart," Tyson answered for him. "Morteous is now the head of House Blackheart." Tyson scanned the shelves and intrigued fetched a flask. "Zombie eye pulp?" he asked.

The agent fidgeted. "Hey, now, that stuff is expensive."

"Really?" Tyson said, his eyes going wide. He poured a measure of the thick chunky mixture into the dirty beaker. He held the beaker up to the lantern and swirled the stuff. Then he placed the beaker on the desk. He took the flask and tossed it to the floor before the shop keeper's feet. The glass shattered and the valuable contents splattered against his legs. The prisoner whimpered at the loss.

"Where did you get the money to buy such stuff?" Tyson asked him. "Apothecary shops are a dime a dozen. You expect me to believe that you make that kind of money selling love potions?"

"What's a 'dime'?" the prisoner asked puzzled.

Tyson shook his head. "Never mind," he said. He picked up a bag from a shelf next to the door. Walking over to the desk, he took a large crucible and dumped a small portion of the bag into the dish. "Ground skeleton bones," he said aloud as he read the bag's contents. He proceeded to grind the granules into a powder as he spoke. "This is quite a treasure house you have here. I could read the labels all night long. Of course I’m no alchemist, and have no idea what this stuff is or what it does. What do you say we just mix a bunch of it together and see what happens, eh?"

The prisoner was getting very uncomfortable. Of course Tyson had tied the bonds very tight and the prisoner was probably losing the feeling in his hands. His feet would follow soon after.

Tyson tossed the bag of granulated bone to the floor and kicked it across the room scattering its contents everywhere. He had probably cost this store several thousand in gold coins already. "Yes, I think that since you were hired by House Blackheart, you’re still bound to follow orders regardless of who sits on the throne."

Tyson walked across the room and surveyed a row of jars with air sealed lids. He gleamed and took one from the very top shelf. "Now here’s a rare novelty," he announced. "Blood from the stomach of a gorged vampire," he read the label. "I’d like to have met the man who obtained this little treasure." He broke the seal, and the store keeper groaned. That jar alone was worth a small fortune.

Tyson poured a generous amount into the beaker and mixed the contents by swirling the container. He placed the jar on the desk, perilously close to the edge. "I’d certainly like to return to Aspberg with assurances that you were back in service," Tyson informed him.

"Please be careful with that jar," the man pleaded. "I can't afford to lose it. My income’s based on this shop."

Tyson turned and "accidentally" knocked the jar to the floor. It shattered with a puff of smoke. "Oops," he said. "It looks as if you’ll be needing another source of income; just until you can get back on your feet."

Suddenly Tyson's face lighted up. "I know," he exclaimed triumphantly. "You can work for House Blackheart as an agent!"

The prisoner squinted defiantly. "Not on your life," he said.

Tyson chuckled to himself and poured the beaker's contents into the crucible. He took a stirring rod and mixed the concoction well. Then he took a large spoon and dipped a sizable portion of the pasty substance. "How about your life?" he asked as he approached with the spoon held out suggestively.

The defiance drained from the prisoner's face as did the blood. Pale and shocked the man's mouth hung open until he realized that fact. Then his mouth snapped shut with astonishing speed. Who knew what that mixture would do?

Tyson smiled broadly. "My, my. This does look tasty." He drew a dagger and put it at the man's throat. "I know you haven’t eaten since I got here, so you must be hungry. So, now you are going to answer my next question," he instructed. "If I like the answer, you’ll remain hungry. If I don’t like your answer, you’re going to sample my cooking. And if you think you can get by without giving an answer at all,” he displayed the dagger quite closely, “well, if you make no answer, I’m going to slit the underside of your mouth open and force feed you."

Tyson moved the point of the dagger until it was resting just below the man's chin. "Now," he asked, "are you going to serve Morteous Blackheart?"

There was really no question as to the outcome, and Tyson felt better than he had felt in a long time as he left the shop. The store keeper had reluctantly agreed to stay in the service of House Blackheart. Tyson had simply patted him on the head and walked out.

Tyson had enjoyed his visit to Keron. The capital city was actually quite beautiful. The royal palace of King Rigel was an exceptional example of architecture built in marble and obsidian. The morning suns rising over the great eastern ocean illuminated the structure making a breathtaking scene.

Tyson was not that fond of Aspberg's urban design, but the citadel of House Blackheart was itself an admirable work of engineering. Allentown, on the other hand, was a city that was very well designed. The city's governing body had planned its development well.

Tycho was the city Tyson had most recently visited. He had been searching the histories and prophesies stored in the Hall or Records there. He had admired its structure as well, but it had displayed more of a cultural flavor than any logical design. The high elven and dwarven populous had constructed the city in the trees and on the ground beneath those trees. Even so, Tyson was uncomfortable there and he was glad to conclude his search and leave. The whole trip had been a waste of time. Tyson had found no evidence that the prophesies made any reference to his former companions.

Upon arriving in Keron, he had snooped about a bit; just enough to figure out that Ragnera's plan for Keron was moving right along. He was not privy to what the situation was, but it was pretty evident from the local gossip that relations were not good between the king and his army at High Branch. It seemed that Ragnera was using Keron to antagonize High Branch. Well, that answered that.

He walked along the wall that overlooked the seashore. It was late night. One of the moons was dipping in the western sky and hovered just above the city's buildings. Tyson considered catching a bite to eat then he would watch the suns rise before heading back to Aspberg. If he ever retired and settled down, he decided, Keron would be a very nice place to live.