Wolves of Castle Fremont

Schemer

Keon sat against the ornate doors outside his master's chambers leafing through an ancient tome he'd read more times than he could count. He had been sitting for an hour, waiting and was beginning to feel very stiff. He didn't care about the contents of the book; it was just full of debatably true hero stories. Rather, he was contemplating the best strategy that would convince or, if necessary, trick his master into taking him to the Countylord's castle. All of the local nobility would be there for Reinhold Fremont's wedding, including the father of the groom and, more importantly, Keon's personal sword in the stone, Countylord Fremont. It would have been much easier to skip the middle part and connect to the Master Recordkeeper's mind directly, but Keon was laughably inexperienced in that regard and would be detected in a heartbeat, which would make things exponentially worse.

Keon saw a shadow coming down the hall and stood, easing the book into one of the pockets of his black cloak for safe-keeping. A moment later the Master Recordkeeper appeared around the corner. He seemed weary, but nevertheless walked briskly. He stopped and sighed when he saw Keon.

"Go on, Keon, you have been relieved for tonight."

The boy smiled, hoping he didn't look too false. "No one actually goes before sundown. Besides, if I'm relieved for the night then this is my own time, and shouldn't I do what I please with it?"

The Master sighed again and rubbed his temple, "I go to sleep before sundown." He moved to open the door and said something Keon couldn't catch.

"Wrong side, Master," Keon tapped his right ear and moved to put the Master on his left.

"I said 'Conduct your business quickly'"

"Ah. I never said I wanted t' discuss business. Is it so unthinkable that I might wish to speak about a trivial, personal matter? Ye know, like t' ask for a day off t' see a girl or the like? Something a normal apprentice would request?"

"Someone ought to cut out that lying tongue of yours, boy, for your sake and mine. Now what is it you really want?"

"Well, I thought ye might need someone t' go with ye t' the palace t' help record Lord Fremont's wedding. Someone t' hold the pens and keep the notes in order, that sort of thing."

"You thought you'd take the initiative, to be the first to offer, correct?"

"Aye."

The Master cocked an eyebrow, too annoyed at the sleep he was losing to really look stern "You would not happen to have an ulterior motive for going on this excursion, would you?"

Keon shrugged and tried to look sheepish, mentally cursing himself for not catching the old man in a better mood, "I suppose ye won't believe me if I say no."

"Correct."

"Well, sir," Keon began, trying to keep his tone even, but allowing just a little nervousness into his voice, digging up the innocent tone he used as a child when begging for food, "I was hoping t' see the castle. I've read all sorts o' things about these parties the nobles throw, and, well I honestly want the chance t' see one for myself."

The Master shook his head, but said nothing. A valiant attempt to play hardball, but the greedy look in his betrayed him. The old man would never do work he could shove onto an apprentice.

"Please, consider my request, Master."

The Master was silent for a moment and Keon fidgeted with his cloak. He didn't have to read the Master's mind to know that he was imaging a relaxing stay at the castle with Keon to do his job for him. Gods, he hoped the old man didn't choose now to stop being a gullible piece of cowshit. At last, the Master spoke.

"I suppose I have no choice but to take you. Something tells me if I refuse you will come up with some hair-brained scheme to go anyway. If you insist on attending your brother's wedding, I would prefer to have you under my supervision." Keon's smile grew and he almost embraced his Master, but restrained himself.

"A thousand thanks, Master!"

"Will you let me sleep now?"

"Aye, o' course," Keon turned and headed back to the apprentices' room, positively shaking with excitement. He knew he couldn't let himself get too cocky, but there was no denying the satisfaction of completing the first step so easily. Still, it would be difficult to achieve his purpose while at his Master's beck and call. He didn't particularly care though; the most effective strategies were the ones with casualties after all.