I gave Lord Varis what I like to call a very hard stare indeed.
Now that the formalities of war were out of the way, he seemed even smaller than he had before. Without his hooded robes, he was dressed in a rather neat grey suit from Gerridges, which I thought was quite spiffing. I had two Gerridges suits myself, but I liked the way he'd done his collar so had been silently taking notes for my next visit to Waggenrook's most esteemed tailors.
We were in the drawing room. I was seated on one side of the table and he the other. In a plush little couch by the cheery little fire, a small old lady with a crisp wrinkled face sat knitting.
Her needles click clacked and now and again she gave a short click of her false teeth. It seemed like they didn't fit her gums very well.
She had a crocheted blanket of many-coloured squares across her knees to keep them warm and a shawl which didn't match it at all.
Also knitted.
Noodle was curled up around her feet, the little void cat completely undisturbed by the situation. His snores were proof of that.
Lord Varis endured my hard stare with stoic acceptance.
It was a little disappointing, to tell the truth. I had hoped he'd be grovelling. Or begging. Or at least stammering out a plea for mercy.
Grimsby slid out of the shadows and stood over us.
"One lump or two, sir?"
"One, please," Lord Varis said without even a hint of nervousness.
"Milk or cream?"
"Milk will be fine, thank you."
Grimsby poured the tea and deftly deposited a cube of sugar into Lord Varis' cup while giving me mine as he knew I liked it. No sugar. A splash of milk. Just enough to colour the tea, but no more than that.
I was a little irritated that he didn't bother to ask. I might have changed my habits or wanted something different for the occasion. He wouldn't know.
Or he might.
Either way, he should still ask.
I refused to fidget about it and watched him slice the small sponge cake into several generous slices, the first of which he gave to the old lady. She nodded and smiled as he placed it on the little table by her chair.
"Thank you, dear."
The lich bowed and served another plate to Lord Varis, who nodded, but said nothing. The tinkle of his spoon against the fine china cup as he stirred was polite, though.
"Would Noodle require a slice, sir?"
"I don't know," I said. "Cat?"
I require an unspoiled maiden bent over my altar with her chest opened so I can feast on her still-beating heart. If she has a sister, it would be even better.
"Might as well give him one," I said.
"Very well, sir."
I glanced at the cat as the lich set a small plate down in front of him. "Don't get crumbs on the floor."
Your insolence has been observed.
A tentacle whipped out of his back and pulled the cake into his mouth which extended wider than his little head should have been physically able to.
One chomp and the cake was gone.
So was my plate.
"You have no manners," I muttered.
The old lady tittered softly. Her needles went click clack.
I stared down at my cake, inhaling the soft citrus smell which wafted into my nostrils like a pleasant perfume. I felt my mouth begin to water. If there's one thing Mudge was really good at, it was chocolate chip biscuits.
And Sponge cake with delicate lemon frosting.
"Will that be all, sir?"
"For now," I said, cutting into my cake with my fork. "Thank you, Grimsby."
As the lich disappeared without even a whisper, I inhaled the scent of my cake with a happy smile before popping it into my mouth to savour the sweet fluffy deliciousness.
So airy!
So light!
And the frosting so sharp yet refined.
I was delirious with joy.
"This is quite good," Lord Varis said suddenly. "You say your chef is an Abomination?"
"Yes," I said. "Originally I was going to have him stand out front of the tower to dissuade hawkers, but he found a cook book somewhere and decided he wanted to bake muffins instead. Who am I to say no to muffins?"
"I've never considered using an Abomination for such things," he said thoughtfully. "And a lich as a butler. Everything I read about liches paints them as a walking calamity."
"Oh, he is."
"Yet, he seems like the perfect butler."
"A little too perfect sometimes," I said, not quite scowling.
"Well. He's not as rough around the edges as I'd expect. I made a Grand Zombie a few years ago, and I couldn't consider using it for more than a doorstop. It wasn't very elegant at all. And it would drop anything you gave it to hold."
"Ah," I nodded as I sliced through the cake. "Bolton's version?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Yes. How did you guess?"
"Bolton wasn't very good with nerves. He felt zombies didn't need to feel to be able to do their job. But if they can't feel what they're holding, then they don't really have a very good understanding of how to hold it properly."
"I never thought of it that way," he said, nodding along. "That explains why Carrington's version looked more complex."
"But his version had issues with rigor mortis."
"Yes, that's why I'd heard Bolton's was better."
"The best solution is a blend of the two. I spliced Carrington's use of necrotic insulation with Bolton's feedback arrays. This solved the Rigor Mortis."
"Wouldn't that cause the life energy to overheat?"
"Two of Jalrick's spatial arrays embedded near the cerebral cortex solves that, too."
"Spatial arrays?" He blinked. "That's… an interesting solution."
I shrugged. "It works. It was the simplest method I could find."
"Hmm." He set down his fork as he finished his cake. Wiped his mouth with his napkin, then delicately lifted his tea to his lips and took a sip before speaking again. "Might I enquire as to what you plan on doing with me now?"
"That depends," I said, also taking a sip of my tea. My cake, too, was finished. There was a crumb left on my plate, but a gentleman doesn't chase his crumbs. Regretfully. "Do you like children?"
"Not particularly."
"Good."
"I don't see why it's good."
"Because if you did like children, I'd have been forced to drop you into the void where the Old Twit would chew on your soul for all eternity. Good for him, but not very good for the world."
"Or for me."
"Probably not," I said, taking another sip. "But I've always thought punishment shouldn't be enjoyed."
"And my punishment involves children?" He frowned. "In what way, may I ask? I mean, I say I don't like them, but I'm not exactly a monster."
"I want you to open an orphanage. You will cater to no less than fifty orphans at any given time. You will provide them with exceptional living conditions which will earn you the praise and awe of the local populace."
"How exceptional?"
"Very exceptional. The best food, the best clothes, and the best education."
"That sounds expensive."
"Yes. It probably is."
"I don't imagine you'll be paying?"
"Of course not," I said. "While I could afford it, I suppose, it would be better if you did. Call it financially atoning for your sins."
"I'm a necromancer," he said. "I don't consider what I did to be a sin. In some places, what I did was normal."
"You're quite right," I said. "I didn't mean to shame your choice of magical study. I have, after all, enjoyed the benefits of necromancy myself. However, the key part of your statement lies in the phrase in some places. And one place it is most definitely not normal, is right here in my home."
"Ah." He sighed. "Reginald."
"Yes," I said. "He was one of yours."
"Would it help if I said I didn't know he was setting up a Ghost Trap in your library?"
"I accepted that," I said. "Which is why you're not currently where Reginald is."
"Dare I ask?"
"He's in the Soul Well I had Grimsby show you." I paused. "If you like, I can drop you in it instead of you setting up an orphanage and devoting the rest of your life to the safety and future of Waggenrook's most needful?"
Lord Varis gave a little shudder. It was the first sign of weakness I'd seen from him and it pleased me greatly.
"I think I'd love to start an orphanage," he said drily. "It sounds absolutely spiffing."
"It does, doesn't it?" I smiled widely before nodding at the little old lady who was struggling with her slice of cake. A tentacle wiggled out of her ear, causing her spectacles to jitter off the edge of her nose. "This is Mrs. Winterbottom. That's not her real name, of course. Shoggoth names don't translate very well. She'll be with you at all times as your devoted assistant."
"Assistant?"
"I'm being polite. She's there to prevent any mookery."
"Then I'm most grateful for her assistance."
"I knew you would be." I lifted the cake knife. "Care for another slice?"
"Thank you," he said. "Under the circumstances, it's very kind of you."
"Well," I deftly deposited a slice on his plate. "We're both gentlemen at the end of the day. Now, I don't suppose you'd be able to answer a small nagging question for me, would you?"
"I could try."
"Reginald had a small token with him. I would like to know why he had it on his person. I would have asked him, but I was a little surprised and a bit too eager to pop him into my Soul Well."
"A token?"
"Yes," I pulled it out of my pocket and set it onto the table between us. His eyes flashed with recognition. "Ah, I see you've seen it before. Tell me. How do you know Lady Westingham?"
The fork fell from Lord Varis' trembling fingers as his face went ash white at the name. Beads of sweat suddenly glistened on his forehead as he gulped loudly.
Which only goes to show you how terrifying my ex-wife is.