Grimsby and I watched in disbelief as Reginald Finch, the most powerful Necromancer of his Order, zoomed around the room clucking like a chicken. Two steps behind was Penelope, a Death Knight whose visage would cause the Mage Guild to run away in terror.
She had a sword in hand and was giving it little dainty swipes which stopped short of even cutting the little man.
"I have to wake up!" Reginald screamed, flapping his arms wildly. "Wake up, Reggie! Wake up, you fool!"
"I think he has snapped, sir," Grimsby said.
"Yes, well. That's no excuse for still being alive," I said sourly. "Penelope, I told you to smoosh him!"
"I'm trying, sir," she called. "But he is very wriggly."
"That's what your sword is for! Stick it into his back and be done with it."
"But I don't want to get blood on it, sir!"
I blinked at her.
Then craned my neck to look up at Grimsby, who was still holding onto my arm so I didn't slide to the floor. "She what?"
"I believe, sir, that she wishes to keep her sword clean," he said. "Very sensible."
"But I want him dead!"
"Have you ever tried to clean a sword, sir? It's quite a messy task. You have to take it apart and clean every individual piece and then put it back together. Much more sensible to kill him in some other way."
"Some other way?" I let out an exasperated moan. "You mean, jog him to death?"
"I admit it's not the most efficient method."
"Cluck cluck!" Reginald squealed as he made to zoom past us again.
This time, Grimsby's hand whipped out and plucked the little man by his collar. Reginald let out another squawk and started kicking out his legs to try and work his way free.
Penelope skidded to a halt and gave her helm a thoughtful scratch. "He has lots of energy," she said.
"What do you want to do with him now, sir?" Grimsby asked, holding the man high off the ground.
"Do?" I ground my teeth, trying not to shout. I instead gave the necromancer my fiercest scowl. "He wanted to see my Death Well. Didn't you, Mister Finch? Well. Let's show it to him!"
"Death Well?" Reginald croaked. He looked more exhausted than I felt. Which was an achievement. "Oh, goodie! Cluck cluck!"
Grimsby held him up and out at arms length. Like he was trash.
Which he was.
He also didn't stop clucking all the way down to the basement.
"He's taking all the fun out of it," I muttered. "I don't even feel like cackling."
"You do like a good cackle, sir."
"I can cackle for you if you want, sir," Penelope offered, trotting beside Grimsby like a big knight-shaped puppy.
I plodded along morosely behind them. "No. don't bother."
In the basement, I kept the Death Well.
When I made it, I had been most impressed with it. When you're young, it's easy to find great joy in alternative forms of magic which society considers taboo. Necromancy appealed to me for that reason. It irritated people who saw me use it.
However, as I unravelled its secrets, it began to disappoint me.
Mostly because necromancy was very limited in what you could do with it.
Sure, you could raise an endless army of powerful minions. But what would you do with them? Skeletons and zombies aren't much good for anything unless you want a fancy hatstand.
A Death Well's only functionality was to recycle souls.
It could absorb the soul of anyone thrown into it and spit out energy which a necromancer could use to power other minions or replenish energy lost in, say, a duel.
This was my plan for Reginald Finch. To take back the energy I had spent on practicing my necromancy with him.
It was a good plan.
And a nasty one which I'd hoped would have had him sobbing and begging forgiveness. Which I wouldn't give, because if you let one rat live, they multiply.
The problem was, he didn't seem to care at all.
"Cluck cluck!"
The Death Well looked like a well. A small ring of stone around a hole which was drilled deep into the earth. If it had an end, I wasn't aware of it. The process of creating it was similar to how I made a portal to the void, only it was more permanent.
Ghostly wisps of green floated up from below, spilling over the stone walls and crawling over the ground like threaded mist.
"A Death Well!" Reginald breathed in awe, going still in Grimsby's implacable grip. "It's so beautiful…"
I crept up behind him and slapped a hand down on his shoulder.
He didn't even flinch.
"Do you know what I'm going to do to you now, Reginald Finch?"
"Cluck?"
"I'm going to throw you in. You will die a horrible and painful death. And then, when you think it's over, your soul will feel the burn of fires so hot even suns would melt within their flames! And then…" I trailed off as I noticed he was busy picking his nose. "Eww."
"Cluck cluck?"
"Grimsby? Toss him in, will you?"
He tossed the little man into the well.
I waited, my heart beating quickly, but no scream came.
Only a long, almost plaintive cry of; "Cluuuuuck!"
Penelope leaned over the edge and looked down. Probably just in time to see the necromantic energy tear the little man apart.
"Oh," she said. "I hope I don't have to clean that up."
I glanced at her, still feeling overwhelmed with disappointment. "Hmm?"
"Well, I'm the new maid, aren't I?"
"Maid?" I shook my head. "You're a Death Knight. Don't you think you're better off being a guard?"
"No," she said.
"You want to be a maid?"
"Yes."
"I think that's a very good idea," Grimsby said, holding out a tray. A fresh gin and tonic sparkled in its glass. I hadn't even seen him leave to get it. "We do need a maid, sir."
"I'll be a good maid, sir! I promise! I can make your bed. Tidy your room. And I can clean all your things, too. Like the floors, the shelves, the bones of your enemies." Her helm vibrated as she giggled. "Oh, I can't wait to get started!"
"You know what?" I sighed as green energy started flowing out of the well and into my chest. I could feel the life energy in my body being replenished slowly. A low spectral moan could be heard from deep within the murky depths of the well. I took a sip of my gin and tonic. "I don't care anymore."
"Can I get a little skirt?" Penelope asked. "I think I should wear a skirt."
"Sure."
"And a feather duster?"
"Grimsby?"
"I'll arrange everything, sir."
The last of Reginald's soul energy slithered out of the well and into my chest, leaving me feeling a lot more refreshed. Almost enough that I felt I, too, could have run around the room like a chicken.
Only, I didn't.
Because it's not the sort of thing a gentleman in his right mind would do.
I was about to turn away when the well began to tremble and shake. Runes deep within the stones flared to life and glowed brightly as a roar sounded from below.
Light flashed from inside the well, as though lightning was ripping up from the depths. Then it let out a thunderous belch of air and something flew out to land at my feet.
The wind died and the well settled back into creepy silence.
I bent down to pick up the object. It was coated in a slick layer of ectoplasm, but was clearly some sort of token.
A communication token, like the one he'd used to contact the others in his Order.
Only, this one was protected by another layer of enchantments designed to make it indestructible.
Which is why the well hadn't been able to process it.
I frowned at it.
It looked familiar.
A little too familiar.
"It's mine," I said softly. "I made this."
"Did he steal it?"
"No," I said. "It can't be stolen. It can only be given freely."
"Then how did he get it?"
"I think that's something we'll have to ask the lady I gave it to, isn't it?" I scowled, handing her the token. She let out a small squeak of disgust as the ectoplasm oozed between her gauntlets. "You're the maid now. Please clean it up and return it to me in the morning. Grimsby?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Could you prepare my battle armor tomorrow, please?"
"The Pilkington Robes, sir?"
"Yes." I turned with a scowl and headed up the stairs. "It seems I need to speak to Layla."
"Layla?" Penelope scratched her helm. "Is she another necromancer?"
"Worse," I said with a shudder. "She's my ex-wife."