The Last Necromancer

Chapter 3 (part 1)

I endured each blow, managing to protect my face, but my left arm, shoulder, side and leg took the full force of his strikes.

And then they suddenly stopped.

"What the blazes are you doing, Fitzroy?"

I peeked through my fingers to see Fitzroy holding the stick and glaring at Gillingham like he wanted to smash him with it. I hadn't heard him enter. Over by the door, Gus and Seth stared like simpletons at the lord and their master, their lips apart, their eyes wide.

I wiped my tears and snot on my sleeve to remove the evidence of my fear and pain. But I couldn't stop the shaking.

"Don't touch him," Fitzroy said in a low voice that I had to strain to hear.

Gillingham tugged on his jacket lapels and tilted his chin even further. "The ministry hasn't become what it is today without laying a corrective hand or two on little rats like him."

"He is a child." Fitzroy spoke through a jaw so tight that it barely moved.

Gillingham wrinkled his nose at me. "Children are capable of duplicitous thoughts and behavior, just as adults are. Children like that one are vermin, not fit for the comforts you offered him. Of course he won't tell you anything useful. Look at that." He nodded at the clothes still folded on the bed, untouched. "He doesn't want to help himself. Filthy creatures like him are a scab on a decent, God-fearing society. He even threw up the food you provided, the ungrateful little wretch."

The angles on Fitzroy's face sharpened. His eyes narrowed to pinpoints. The air in the room stretched thin, taut. I held my breath, waiting for his temper to explode. "I am in charge of the ministry now, and I say how we treat our informants." Fitzroy's voice was cool and ominously quiet.

Either Gillingham didn't fear his temper, or he wasn't terribly observant, because he didn't back out of the room as I would have done if I were him. He straightened and squared his shoulders. "You are only in charge because the committee put you there. And the committee do as I say, Fitzroy."

"No."

"No?" Gillingham spluttered a humorless laugh. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you need to get out of Lichfield Towers before I turn your stick on you."

Gillingham did take a step back then. His gaze flicked from the stick to Fitzroy's menacing face, where it settled with renewed determination. "You get above yourself again, Fitzroy. Do not forget who I am, and do not forget what I know. I can crush you."

"Seth," Fitzroy said.

Seth stood to attention. "Yes, sir?"

"See that Lord Gillingham finds his way safely to his coach."

"Certainly, sir." Seth didn't bat an eyelid at the tense exchange, but Gus, just behind him, gawped openly as Gillingham and Fitzroy glared daggers at one another.

Seth cleared his throat. "My lord, the, er, stairs are this way."

Gillingham pushed past the men without a backward glance at me. "The committee will hear of this!" His heavy footsteps echoed for some time until they muted into nothing.

The tension in the bedroom relaxed somewhat, but a sense of awkwardness lingered. Or perhaps it was me who felt awkward, as all eyes focused on me now. I wished they would ignore me. I preferred to go undetected, blending in with the other boys when I could, or simply vanishing altogether when I could not. This attention was far too unnerving.