Chapter Seventeen

Jack paused in the side street, conscious of his grubby appearance. No longer riding what he now considered to be his horse, he clenched his jaw, annoyed that he had to walk the rest of the way while the three who’d escorted him were free to ride through the front gate to the house.

Keeping his head down to avoid the usual condescending stares, Jack marched to the side gate. He glared at the guard by that gate who stared at him but said nothing.

As he stomped through the kitchen, he dismissed the thought that it might be an idea to tidy himself before reporting to Garlon. He wanted the man to see what Jack had gone through on his behalf.

As he waited outside Garlon’s study, Jack glanced over his shoulder for he thought he’d heard a noise from the drawing room behind him. The door stood slightly ajar, and he glimpsed what might have been either a grey robe or a skirt. About to step closer, he stopped as Garlon ordered him to enter.

Garlon’s first question concerned the bean. “It worked as described?”

“Yes, my lord.” Jack quickly detailed everything about the bean before recounting, once again, his escapade. “I left the dagger with Madam Climence.”

Garlon remained silent for some moments. “It’s a shame you can’t understand their language. So, Climence thinks you should take the cat next?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“That would make sense, especially if the giant is fond of it. Though the harp is worth more if what you say is true.”

“It is, my lord, I swear.”

“Then take the harp. That may be enough to force the giant’s hand. I don’t want this going on any longer than it needs to.”

“But Madam Climence said–”

“Do you work for her or for me?”

Jack lowered his head. “Forgive me, my lord.”

“Wait a few days, a week, before you return to the mountain. Now leave. And Jack.”

He paused at the door.

“Never appear to me in that state again.”

Jack bowed quickly in case Garlon spied his pinched expression. “Forgive me, my lord, it will not happen again.”

He stood fuming in the deserted hallway, scowling at the closed door before walking away. About to turn the corner, he glanced back and caught sight of a figure exiting the drawing room. He quickly ducked around the corner and peered around.

The figure moved in a delicate manner, as a woman would before glancing down the hallway. Jack stifled a gasp. Not a woman but a man with skin so pale, his pallid lips seemed to blend with his face. To Jack’s surprise, he entered Garlon’s study without knocking.

Engulfed with curiosity, Jack crept back to the study. Pressing his ear to the door, he could hear Garlon telling of what Jack had seen at the giant’s house.

Another voice, the accent unfamiliar said something about the cat and seemed especially interested in its human-like eyes.

“Not the harp,” the stranger said, “the cat. He must bring the cat.”

Jack frowned; it was as if the stranger already knew of the cat.

“What are you doing?”

Startled, Jack stepped back to face the butler. Before he could say anything, the door swung open. His already thudding heart beat faster at the sight of Garlon’s face twisted in anger.

“You were listening?” Garlon grabbed a fistful of Jack’s collar and slammed him against the wall. Ignoring Jack’s babbling apology, he punched him in the belly, then released him to crumple to the ground. “Do you need reminding that I do not tolerate insubordination?”

Grimacing, struggling to draw breath, Jack saw Garlon draw his booted foot back to deliver a kick. He tried to get out of the way.

“Garlon, stop.” It was the stranger. “Do not damage him. We still have need of him.”

With a curse, Garlon hauled Jack to his feet and delivered a backhanded slap to his face. “You speak of my guest to anyone, anyone, and by the time I’m done with you, your own mother won’t know you. Do I make myself clear?”

Whimpering, too scared to look directly at his master, his gaze instead fixed on the stranger’s long-fingered hand still on Garlon’s arm, Jack nodded.

“Get out of my sight.”

Stumbling as Garlon shoved him, Jack scuttled away, arms wrapped around his sore belly. Cursing his weakness, feeling like a child again fearful of the man who’d replaced his father, he dragged himself to the relative safety of his room. “I’ll make him pay for that,” he muttered, roughly wiping away his tears. “One day, I’ll make him pay.”