Locumten: Book 1

By Dmitri Talanov

On the wave-beaten shores of an unknown country, a young shipwrecked boy named Phale is taken in by the family of a castle steward. As he begins to understand the customs and laws of this strange, new land, Phale discovers a society that is in constant conflict with a race of malevolent, magical beings. At the epicentre of this ceaseless struggle, is a gateway between worlds: the very castle in which Phale now resides, and of which he may soon be fated to become the steward, or as the locals call it, the Locumten.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483580531

Book preview

-

-1-

Every person’s life inevitably depends on his aptitude, vigilance, and resourcefulness.

—Janus Choziek, How It Was, 57th Ed.

Central Library, Anastasia City

Not for the first time, the lesser guestroom of the castle Halmstem were subject to a lunchtime squabble. Roused voices soared like birds up to the woodcut rafters. Under a weighty, oaken candelabra of a hundred candles, the members of the Fe family sat around a table composed of three redwood sideboards.

A stranger might have observed that those assembled here were members of privileged society, if only due to their clean, well-made outfits, admittedly of a simple cut. That same stranger, however, would have been hard-pressed to identify the decade or century. The clothes pointed toward the Middle Ages, but the freedom of expression and content of the discourse leaned toward a much-later period.

The family in the guestroom could not come to an agreement. It was already time for the main course, and nobody had touched the appetisers. A subdued rage at this hung on the face of the head cook, who had arrived with the next dish.

And who would even think that the cause of this bother was a mischievous ten-year-old boy!

Phale, as this blond hellion was known, was well acquainted with the family’s hardships. But on this bright summer day, he was attending to more important matters. Crouching behind the smithy, he waited intently for the blacksmith to step out so he could steal some fire and test his foster sister Esha’s claims that the grass by the woodshed burned with flames that caused no pain.

Back in Halmstem, the debate continued.

The child is blameless! exclaimed a large young woman with a thick braid running down her back. Ruphina wouldn’t be called cute, exactly, but the colour in her cheeks was warm and pleasant. Where was he to learn manners when his father dragged him out to sea practically the day he was born!

Ruphina was the second-oldest daughter in the family. Her younger sister, the lanky Esha, cocked her head to the side and grinned at something private. Clasping her short haircut in fists, she gave it a thoughtful tug.

Yeah. Sailors sure aren’t the best tutors. We should probably be thankful he doesn’t swear at us.

Leaning on the table, Esha propped her palms under her chin. She fixed her gaze on the figure across from her, the eldest of the three sisters, Lentola.

We don’t even know yet what will happen when he’s fluent in the language, said Lentola dramatically. Birds are told by their flight!

Sunlight from an open doorway leading to the garden glistened off her long, blond hair. The girl skinned her pear so furiously that one would think it was her mortal enemy. She had yet to partake of anything else.

It’s your job to teach him, said Ruphina. So put some effort in!

The boy can’t stand me, countered Lentola, with a dignity befitting her sharp features.

I suspect the feeling is mutual, noted Esha.

Orphans are an easy-enough target, said Ruphina.

Annoyed, their sister threw her mangled pear across the room.

Quit weeping over his orphan hood! Our orphan has rosy cheeks, gleaming eyes, and an appetite of a wolf! Irenius says he has no trouble hefting the pickaxe, Mervin’s clothes are tearing at the seams on him, and you still talk of him like he’s a helpless baby!

Got something against the kid’s good health? asked Ruphina sternly.

Esha smiled. I think it’s more her ruined date last night that’s got her worked up.

Anger flashed across Lentola’s beautiful face. Esha erupted in a joyous laugh.

Sister, you won’t be able to appreciate it, but his idea was quite ingenious! I myself would never have thought to stretch a line from the Lookout Tower to the eastern causeway and slide down in a sling.

He destroyed the whole window! said Lentola.

The boy didn’t take his weight into account, Ruphina explained.

He took everything into account, said Gabrielle from the other end of the table, except the distance turned out to be too far.

The youngest of the family, Gabrielle had helped Phale with his latest excursion, and she had therefore been sitting quietly until that moment, like a mouse under a broom. However, she had to defend their plan.

Lentola turned her displeased gaze on her youngest sister.

He knocked the candleholders off the table and burned my overcoat to cinders! I was singed, and Ashton’s uniform was harmed as well!

What’s more romantic than being burned alive at a candlelit dinner? asked Esha quietly.

Lentola continued, waving her arms. He’s become an official disturber of the peace after just a month at Halmstem! Give him another week, and the dogs of the whole Empire will know his name. I was already asked in Keiplig if we’d opened a halfway house here!

There’s your real reason, smiled Esha, biting into a pancake.

Indeed. An authoritative voice echoed around the room.

The speaker had a gaunt face, black, neatly parted hair, and the perpetually red eyes of someone chronically deprived of sleep. He had but to speak, and everyone else fell silent, gazing squarely at him.

Master Fe commanded unconditional authority in his family. Even the Mistress Fe, against whom not many could hold his own, would never dream of standing contrary to him. She was in the room as well but had no intention of taking part in any debates, while civilities were still being kept up.

I received a summons demanding to know what child we’re harbouring here and what our intentions are with him. We can’t dally any longer.

Esha and Ruphina exchanged quick glances.

You know best, of course, Father, said Ruphina tentatively. But I had assumed…I mean…ultimately, you’re on the Council…

Oh, please, said Esha. It’s Child Services that has sniffed us out, isn’t it?

Master Fe responded with a curt nod. Lentola’s face turned pale. Her sisters turned to her.

Your Prince Charming maybe tipped them off? asked Ruphina threateningly.

Ashton would never! blurted Lentola. Phina, you watch what you say!

There’s no cause for alarm, Master Fe interjected. "They know that the boy came to the Inner Border after the wreck of his ship. The only unknown is how he was thrown into the Door Chamber. We’ve all heard the old Serdar songs, so figuring out how this boy appeared there is imperative for the safety of all of us.

He’s an orphan, and could therefore stay with us, but he’s also over five years of age, which means he’s supposed to be sent back. The bottom line, though, is that the Vault is Treasury property. Thus, the Treasury must decide what to do with him, and as of right now, there is no Treasury. Flaviona doesn’t take up her post until the end of the month, he said, referring to the new empress. Taking this into account, Child Services is offering to pick him up as soon as tomorrow.

Lentola sprang to her feet. Yes, yes, yes! she exclaimed. Right away! I’ll bring the bird!

And I’ll twist its neck, said Ruphina. How dare you treat the little guy that way?

Lentola spun around, framed by a halo of window light.

Little guy? She grimaced. This is how you imagine a poor bedraggled orphan, is it?

The heretofore-silent Mistress Fe finally spoke. You don’t pity him, dear?

She asked this without any implication, but Lentola’s face—not unlike her own—betrayed a hint of guilt.

Why pity? she said. Why should I feel pity for him? He’s alive; he’s healthy, not pitiful in the least. I pity us if he turns out to be the spawn of a Serdar, or something worse. And his account of things, I might add, can’t be reliable in the least. He doesn’t exactly carry a deep love for us in his heart, does he? Didn’t bat an eyelid yesterday, or when he drowned our whole garden in crap!

The boy had never seen rising dough, Ruphina interrupted.

And that explains why he dumped all that yeast into a toilet?

Dropped, Ruphina corrected. By accident.

Oh, sure, I believe that!

Well, intruded Esha, at least the gardener doesn’t need to fertilise now. Possibly ever again.

Lentola took in some air sharply.

And how about the time he hung an anvil above the main entryway? Terrified all our guests?

Oh, stop, said Ruphina. The only one scared was you, because you were too nearsighted to see the rope. You thought the anvil was falling on you and Ashton. Meanwhile, the boy was just trying to find the best perch to test the properties of a mooring rope. He’s inquisitive as anything…

At this point, a man in uniform entered the room. He was quite large, but more so in width than height.

Good day, he said to the room, tilting his flat, smiling face slightly to the side. His little black eyes, almost entirely without lashes, darted to everyone in turn.

Miss, he said to Lentola, Envoy Delono has come to call and awaits you in the east pavilion. What shall I tell him?

Midsentence, he saluted Master Fe, who paid him no heed. Lentola, meanwhile, immediately turned and ran out of the room. After a moment, the soldier followed her.

Must be anticlimactic, said Esha, being made an envoy, and then not getting sent anywhere. Our emperor sure picked an awkward time to kick the bucket.

She dipped another pancake in bilberry jelly but didn’t have time to finish it.

From the direction of the courtyard emanated a scream that sounded only vaguely human. Moments later, an odd smell made its way into the room. The screaming turned into a howling before ceasing completely.

What was that? said Master Fe. His wife rose from her chair.

Phale, she said, adding in Latin, like the wolf in the fable.

A man of about forty with thick, grey stubble on his face ran through the door. He wore aging boots and a tunic with a dagger slung on one side of his belt.

Master! he said, out of breath. The torch storehouse is alight! All the timber, the resin…The little hellion’s torched it all!

Master Fe winked. He didn’t need clarification regarding which hellion was being discussed.

Who’s in charge? he asked. Who’s putting it out, Sergeant Cody?

The kid himself, sir. Along with anyone else who’s off work…

He’s…putting out the fire? repeated Mistress Fe in an odd tone.

Yes, ma’am. The sergeant turned to her. Little guy’s not afraid of a damn thing.

Who’s watching him? the mistress asked.

Irenius.

The blacksmith isn’t a soldier!

And the boy isn’t a citizen, the sergeant rebutted.

Aria, my dear, said Master Fe to his wife, we have other concerns right now. Sergeant, is the standard flying?

It is, sir. We also sent a rider, but Cygerrick had already dispatched with some others out of Bassan.

Master Fe smiled.

I’m surprised he didn’t bring the whole cohort with him. I bet you can see the smoke all the way from the capital.

It’s blackened half the sky, the sergeant confirmed. I think Cygerrick will likely see the standard and turn back. Oh, and your daughter, I’m afraid, has taken a bit of a—

He didn’t have time to finish. Lentola appeared behind him like a shadow. Her tasteful dress had been reduced to singed rags. Her hair was peppered heavily with ash.

Mistress Fe gasped. What kind of state is this? For shame! Go clean yourself up this instant!

Lentola peered vacantly from side to side, as though trying to remember where and why she’d come.

Something needs to be done about that child, she said hoarsely, then erupted in a fit of coughing. I saw him taking fire-starter to the storehouse…Tried to stop him…

Master Fe’s temper flared.

How many times have I ordered that damned fraxinella destroyed? he barked at the sergeant.

Well, it’s destroyed now, said Esha quietly, reaching for the fish pudding.

Mistress Fe raised her voice. I repeat, go and clean yourself up!

Her eldest daughter looked down and winced, as though now realising what had become of her outfit. Leaning weakly on a crossbeam, she moaned, I can’t go on like this. I can’t take anymore! He almost burned Irenius to death…and got himself blasted with flame head to toe!

Mmm, Aria, said Master Fe, alarmed, we’d better handle this. If the boy has suffered, he should be seen to right away. If he’s fine, get him away from there—better safe than sorry. We won’t be giving him to Child Services; we’ll send him to the Borderlands. I think Flaviona will agree with me!

****

Thick, black smoke hung above the remains of the storehouse. Something glowed among the cinders and occasionally crackled.

A thick layer of ash covered the surviving grass around the structure. Phale ran back and forth, bucket in hand, dousing the remaining flames. A dozen soldiers accompanied him. The boy’s hair was standing on end; his gaunt face, wide mouth, and upturned nose were caked in soot.

Phale threw the empty bucket aside and looked around. How could he have known that the innocent-looking fraxinella plant would explode in flame like that?

It had turned out that this indeed does nothing to the plant itself, but the grass all around the storehouse had gone up instantly. This would have all turned out far worse, if not for the blacksmith rushing to help. Without Irenius and his industrious ditch digging, burning oil could have reached the stables or the smithy. The splay of burned earth ended just shy of it.

The steep incline separating the burned area from the castle’s gardens had been defended by the soldiers. Their heat had been more extreme—a whole line of strawberry bushes had been torched there, now skeletal versions of their former selves.

Taking note of his master and mistress approaching along the yard, Phale wiped his brow and sighed. The look on the mistress’s face was apt to paralyse birds midflight. Master Fe appeared about as approachable. Phale felt the sudden urge to change into clean clothes before it was too late.

At least Lentola wasn’t with them. Listening to her, anyone would get the impression that his whole life had been a chain of evils and misdeeds. She had, of course, not failed to mention this, having appeared just as the fire was starting. What an airhead! There’s a fire to put out, and she runs around yammering her nonsense.

And Esha…oh, he’d have to show Esha for this!

The master and mistress were arguing. Master Fe was shaking his head and trying to talk the mistress into something. She seemed to object at first but then grew attentive, more so with every moment. Her face relaxed, losing some of its firmness.

Master Fe started for the stables. The mistress stepped toward Phale. The boy sighed again, preparing for the inevitable.

Having evaluated the fire-dousing efforts, the mistress turned her attention to the blaze’s progenitor. Phale looked up at her glumly from beneath singed eyebrows.

Turn around, she said.

She gestured for him to turn away from her. He obeyed.

Everything but the eyebrows and eyelashes all right? she asked.

It is, he confirmed, terrified of what would come next.

Why did you do this? she asked.

Phale was about to blame it all on Esha but realised that following bad advice was making himself a fool.

I don’t know, he said instead. I had no idea that plant was so malicious!

Mistress Fe nodded. It’s very lamentable. But if you don’t know the consequences of your actions, mightn’t it be best not to act at all?

The boy’s ears turned crimson.

Go to the stables, said the mistress. The manure there has piled right up. You can work it into kindling—the press will be around the corner. I’m sure you’ll figure out how it works. As for your continued stay here… She turned to the charred strawberry bushes.

The new empress takes up her post soon, and when that happens, you’ll be returned to your own kind. Fate has dealt you some interesting cards, child. She’ll have to take care of you now.

-2-

I present for your consideration that in the castle resides an underage orphan, the sole survivor of a shipwreck in the recent storm…

—Unsigned excerpt, Archive of the Imperial Court,

Child Services Watermark, file Halmstem

Phale opened the window, and peered warily into the garden. It was thick and unkempt, brimming with disorderly configurations of trees. Sharp bushes hung heavy with large berries. They glowed ruby-red in the light of the rising sun. But for the dog dozing by the fountain, the garden was void of life. Phale pushed the window open to its limit, levered himself onto the sill, and jumped out onto the gallery.

The marble pressed cool against his bare feet, but sandals weren’t an option. The sound they would generate might wake Mistress Fe—her windows were open one floor above. After the storehouse fire, Phale was loath to annoy her further. Definitely not today, when he’d finally figured out how to escape this place.

The boy crept along the gallery to the lookout deck and sat down on the dewy slab of marble. Letting his feet dangle over the edge, he pressed his face to the aperture between parapets. The sea was not calm, but today’s storm was nothing compared to the one that had first flung the boy into Halmstem. And there was still some hope that a ship might arrive.

The castle Halmstem was massive. Phale had never seen such, nor even known they existed. It seemed endless and teemed with intriguing crevices. It sat atop a crag jutting into the sea and was populated largely by military types. Around it, however, lived not a soul. Phale had long stared from the battlements into the surrounding forests, getting the impression that raising Halmstem’s drawbridge would cut one off from the world entirely.

In other words, the castle appeared large outwardly, but in reality was a yawning black hole.

What Phale did around here concerned nobody. Thrice a day, he was fed in the kitchen, and once a week, he was handed clean clothes. Master Fe was absent, preparing for festivities in Keiplig. Mistress Fe made as if Phale didn’t even exist. It seemed as though, given the impulse, he could just walk out of here.

But he had his doubts.

Left to his own devices, Phale had lost no time. In the past month, he had explored the castle from its cellars to its highest battlements, so it was doubtful he could get lost here, as he had in his first week. However, he continued to feel that he was being cheated. Otherwise, why would they feed him off his feet, and expect nothing in return? Even when he’d burned down the storage shed, all that had resulted was an afternoon pressing manure.

Sure, he might smell for the next hundred years, but it still felt like small-time punishment for a serious crime.

And why were they teaching him the local language? Lentola, on her mother’s orders, gave him daily lessons. Yet nobody would answer what this castle was for, why it was positioned so oddly, nor why there was no civilization around. His questions were dodged and ignored.

Phale had heard that they intended to relocate him somewhere, and concluded that he was to be sold into slavery. Thus, he had resolved to get out of here, as quickly as possible.

A sail appeared in the distance, causing the boy’s heart to race.

Grabbing onto the parapet tighter, he leaned out, waiting for a course correction. To determine if this was the same ship from three days ago, he needed to see the length of the crossbeam.

Moorage at Halmstem didn’t come easy. Vessels docked here on the opposing side of the bay, near enough to a cliffside from whence one could feasibly make the jump to the rigging and clamber down onto the deck. Sailing with his merchant father since the age of five, Phale felt ideally suited for such a task.

The ships here were larger, but that didn’t change the plan much. If he timed it right, there wouldn’t even be a jump necessary; it all depended on the buoyancy of the ships, which unloaded mostly at night. They came rarely, but always from the right heading.

Phale’s empty home was out there somewhere. Empty, because without his father, he had nobody. He was pulled toward that former home daily, feeling no connection to this alien place, where he was always the fifth wheel on a wagon.

Phale’s mother had died from fever after giving birth to him, and he didn’t remember her. Having mourned his father, he decided that this had been fate. So what if he was alone now? His parents lived in his heart. Now, at least, he wouldn’t have to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a merchant, a business he had always found dull. How much better would it be to become a pirate!

The ship changed its bearing, and it was no use waiting any longer. It was clearly just passing by. Sulking momentarily at the lost opportunity, Phale stood up. His escape would require some other ingenuity. Bolting back down the gallery, he clambered back into his room and ran out into the corridor. The Lookout Tower had sounded the dawn, and Halmstem was waking up.

Noticing Lentola waiting to ambush him in the kitchen, Phale slowed down. Her presence here was unheard of, and yet there she was, ruining any anticipation he might have had of some good-natured discourse with the cooks.

The portly head chef stood with his back to the door, slicing bread with a huge knife. His head was encased in a black rag, making him look like a bandit. Momo, the widest lady cook that Phale had ever seen, threw her arms in the air upon spying him.

He noticed that some soldier occupied his seat at the wood-carved table. That was when Lentola noticed him.

Where have you been? she demanded. Come with me.

Her coal-black eyes narrowed, her mouth drawing in tightly.

She towered above him like a mast. Phale was alarmed.

What about my breakfast?

Later.

Phale almost howled in dismay. Lentola was ruining everything! Leading him to a large room he’d never been in before, she gestured to a chair.

It was remarkably quiet here. The castle’s ambient sound unable to make its way through. The high walls were lined with shelving, stacked with books. On a massive table lay a map that transfixed Phale instantly. Luck was playing right into his hands; Lentola had no idea he could read maps. At the edge of the table lay his textbook.

You’ll study on your own today, said Lentola, holding her nose up reprehensibly, as usual. And you’ll breakfast after the soldiers are all fed. They ride out soon, and we don’t want you underfoot.

Phale’s mood improved at this. Lessons with Lentola were not the highlight of his schedule. She continually lorded herself over him like a princess, reminding him that the clothes on his back were stitched and re-stitched hand-me-downs.

He became awkward around her, claustrophobic in the quarters where they normally took their lessons. He worried about knocking over a stack of books, or nudging some valuable thing or other off a shelf. His hands stopped obeying him, which only increased the imaginary dangers and subsequent awkwardness.

In short, the lessons were punishing.

Dress rustling, Lentola sailed out the doors. Phale sprang from his chair and ran out onto the balcony. The old chestnut tree in the garden was high enough to reach the railing, and that meant this was the lair of Master Fe. Phale had often observed the man looking down at him from this very spot.

Phale moved the textbook to the chair and returned his attention to the map. There were small hills and rivers marked on it, but no seas. The lands depicted didn’t resemble Halmstem. Phale frowned. Fate wouldn’t have led him here to leave him with nothing.

The map turned out to be quite heavy, but Phale managed to roll it up and unroll the map beneath it without dropping anything on the floor.

The second map was useless as well.

Disappointed, Phale pulled this sheet onto the floor and unrolled