Jack Of All Trades ✓ | steampunk, dragons, trickery

Chapter 11.2: Trying to be Bad

Fifteen minutes later, Jack was back home in his mansion, feeling good about his deed to the women, and admiring his artistic cartographic work which would go on display in a few weeks at the Montefort Gallery. There were so many flaws about that gallery that Jack knew he could fix. They did everything wrong and barely made enough money to stay afloat. 

The owner was a woman who took over after her husband died of heatstroke, but she didn't know the value of anything. Jack had to hold his tongue all the time to not reveal any knowledge about gallery running.

"Montague! Oh, Mister Jack Montague!" called the butler, Thomas. "I was looking for you, em-Weatherbees have come asking for em-airship again!"

Thomas didn't address Jack as 'sir'. As a butler, he should and he would, but not to Jack.

"When was the call?"

"Just this morning."

"Get them on em-line."

"Phone bills." Thomas glared, twitching his graying mustache and narrowing his eyes.

"I'll pay them. Just need until next week."

Thomas muttered something about 'a long-socked ignoramus'. It was Miremand's slang meaning something along the lines of 'basterdallion on a high horse'.

"Do you doubt my artistry?" Jack countered him, but Thomas disappeared around the corner. Irritation bubbled in his chest, and he took out the dagger from his bag. He stared at it, contemplating a good gush of blood, but a weight on his shoulders held him back. The marbled flooring turned to stone. Behind him was Queen Serena Mary Plantagenet with golden dragon Eli and black dragon Jett at her sides. They breathed fire into his face and cried tears of hurt.

"Jack," Thomas said, and Jack blinked out of his daymare. Thomas was holding the phone out for him, but he furrowed his brows. "Are you okay?"

"Of course!" Jack snapped and grabbed the phone. "Ah, Mister Weather—"

"Montague moron!" came the thundering voice of Mister Weatherbee. "Em-rental fee is due today! Why are you not returning em-ship to my lawn at this very moment? We had a deal—"

"I was just about to call you, sir. I wanted to extend my rent," Jack said in as much pleasurable tone as he could manage, "and I have em-money. If you wait a week. Em-gallery has accepted my artwork front and center. Many renowned politicians will be there, surely, I will make—"

"Moron!" Mister Weatherbee barked and hung up the phone. Jack plastered a smile on his face and returned the phone to the receiver. He shooed Thomas away and just at that moment, Percy returned, coming from the kitchen. He shoes squelched and he left wet footprints along the flooring. He looked like a mess.

"Thomas, did you hear what Percy did today?" Jack said.

"No."

"He made himself nude in front of a virgin girl." It was not a lie, but without any context, it could only sound predatory. Thomas gave a cold look at Percy whose eyes teared up. Percy ducked through a doorway that led down to the den where he lived. From the look on Thomas' face, he was regretting hiring Percy to keep an eye on Jack. Every time Percy was sent out to find Jack, he came back with trouble.

Well, I get him into trouble because I don't need any looking after. Jack went after him into his room, yanking open the door to find Percy on the floor, struggling to get his feet out of his pants. They were stuck at his shoes. He should have taken his shoes off first.

Jack took out his new dagger and closed the door. "Let me help."

"No, I'm fine," Percy squeaked.