roadtomastery
patreon
Chapter 44: Marcus finds Heaven
🕑 Added 2025-01-03 09:19:05 +0000 UTCWith a creak that felt ear-scratching—but was really rather quiet—the iron door swung open, revealing the manor’s outer courtyard.
Trees and bushes lined the gravel paths, shining under the silver moonlight. The silence was deafening, with only the muffled sounds of the town disturbing the manor’s serenity. That, and the bunch of undead who carried stuff through the courtyard as if moving houses. Marcus watched them from behind and could barely suppress his growing sense of disbelief.
A chair, a sack of shoes, a toolbox, backpacks… Oh, Manna, why did I pick the single weirdest necromancer?
He rubbed his nose, forcing himself to focus. They had scouts on the ground and in the sky, and they had already grasped the layout of this place, as well as the guards’ locations.
There weren’t many guards—six in total, with two already knocked out by Jerry’s soul magic. As for the manor’s occupants, most were drunkenly asleep and wouldn’t wake up by anything short of a shout in their ears.
Marcus had snuck into many places in his life, be it a maiden’s quarters or an ancient tomb, and this was one of his easiest infiltrations yet. That’s the only reason why they could even afford to carry Jerry’s chair, to which the necromancer seemed quite fixated for some reason.
He’s just like that tribe leader in the archipelago. Take one little pearl away and he starts throwing javelins at your back… Thank Manna he was drunk.
Marcus shook his head, but this really wasn’t the time to reminisce. Everyone else had already crossed into the courtyard.
As stealthily as possible, the treasure hunter followed, darting from bush to bush as he made a beeline for the manor’s entrance, where the shadows fell from above and shielded them from all peering eyes. The front door had already been opened—they would go in with style.
“Took you a while,” Boney said. “Are your old bones rusting already?”
“I’m only forty-two, you numbskull. Just keep this circus in order, and I’ll handle myself.”
“Whatever you say.” Boney made that chuckling, jaw-clacking sound which— for the love of Manna —he called cluckling.
Marcus looked around. They were in a small room—an antechamber—that could barely fit them all, what with the bulky Billies and Axehand. Ahead, the corridor split to the left and right, each side leading to different sections of the large manor.
Due to Birb’s scouting from above, they knew that the manor was built around an inner courtyard in which the airship rested. All paths led there, obviously, but they needed to find the exit closest to the airship’s ramp, which was already lowered to make maintenance easier. Nobody expected airship thieves.
They already knew the ramp was on the east side—Manna bless Birb—but the mice had to scout the place and make sure there were no patrolling guards, sleepwalkers, or manor staff walking around.
Suddenly, the necromancer opened his mouth, his eyes still closed.
“Both are safe,” he said.
“Are you sure?” asked Marcus.
“About the right path, yes. About the left one, not at all—it includes the kitchen, and I struggle to get the mice through there. Too much cheese.”
The treasure hunter blinked. “Are you serious?”
“Very. If I push their small minds too far, they will break.”
“Oh, Manna…”
“We only care about the right path anyway; that’s where the ramp is,” Boney said. “Let’s go. An airship is waiting.”
“Wait, wait,” Marcus cut in, turning to Jerry. “I have an important question, Jerry. Have you discovered the treasury?”
“The treasury? It’s on the second floor, by the stairs to our left. Why?”
“I think we should visit that, too. We could always use extra funds, and leaving teals in this asshole’s hands wouldn’t sit right with me.”
“I see. You want to borrow the count’s money.”
“You could put it that way.”
“That’s too risky,” Boney said. “We need to hurry, so let’s just go to the airship and fly away. Taels will be useless in the Dead Lands.”
“But useful when we return,” Marcus said. “Money can do a lot of things, Boney. If you don’t take everything you can, you’ll soon find yourself poor and starving, and that isn’t a fun experience. Trust me.”
“But I cannot starve,” the skeleton replied, drawing a chuckle from Jerry, who said, “Actually, you know what? I think I have a perfect use for that money. Let’s borrow it.”
“Oh?” Marcus frowned. “What kind of use?”
“Not telling.”
“That scares me.”
“This could put you in danger, Master,” Boney insisted, but Jerry only shook his head.
“Marcus, take Foxy with you,” he said. “She can protect you. I’ll send a few mice your way as well.”
“Thanks, Jerry. So, left?”
“Left. Up the stairs, turn left again, and follow the mice. They’ll know the way.”
“Great. Come on, Foxy, let’s go. Money is waiting!”
The skeletal fox glanced in Jerry’s direction, then slowly walked to stand beside Marcus. “We’re off,” he said. The two of them entered the corridor, turned left, and disappeared from sight.
Marcus found himself in the dark, illuminated only by what little dregs of light found their way down the staircase. Fortunately, he was familiar with dark places, so he simply waited for his eyes to adjust before proceeding.
“Come, Foxy,” he whispered. Suddenly, he was on edge. He was in the count’s manor, a place where he absolutely wasn’t supposed to be. If he was captured, there would be no excuses, no questions—he would be executed on the spot.
As if a veil had been lifted from his eyes, he suddenly realized how nonsensical this idea was. They had no need to do this; they could just wait until morning and leave with the count’s blessings, but Jerry wanted the damn airship. And yes, maybe the count hoarded public funds, but Marcus wouldn’t normally risk himself for such plain moral reasons.
So, why was he here?
Excellent question, he realized. I wish I knew.
Had Jerry’s naive enthusiasm infected him? Had he gotten arrogant after discovering the clue to Dorman’s treasure, or was he simply indulging in the urge to have an airship?
Marcus was unsure, but he knew one thing. He was having fun.
This reminds me of the temple of Sar’dul… he mused, grinning despite his fear. In danger, he felt alive—and the promise of easy profit gave his feet wings. He was twenty-one again.
A hint of movement drew his gaze to the far end of the corridor. Mice, a dozen of them—they were here to protect him, too, not just lead the way.
Ugh.
Marcus did not like mice—he’d almost died to them twice—but for now, he could stand them.
“Lead the way, little ones,” he whispered, and the mice ran a circle around him— ugh —before sprinting off. Eyes widening, he rushed to follow them while remaining quiet. The manor’s silence felt pregnant with danger now, and to break it would mean death…or so he feared.
Unconsciously, his breath had gotten deep and fast—soundless still—while Marcus was a fleeting shadow. So was Foxy by his side, despite her bone paws—those red shoes really did wonders. Shoemakers were grossly underestimated.
The stone floor rolled under their feet as they advanced, following the snaking route that the mice led. They walked past a few doors, climbed the stairs, turned to the right, and kept going. This manor was too large for just the count’s family, but many nobles and staff lived here as well.
Eventually, the scenery changed. The doors were sparse and made of iron now, and everything was more angular, lending this part of the manor a professional feel instead of the previous homely one.
Marcus paused.
Hmm. Iron means money. We’re getting close.
The mice squeaked and scratched against a door. Marcus grinned. He grabbed the handle and turned, finding it locked.
Bingo.
Foxy growled by his side. The door was locked, and they had no keys; they could not enter.
However, Marcus was a treasure hunter—and in his line of work, locks were aplenty.
“Sit back, girl,” he whispered, kneeling on the ground, “and let daddy get to work.”
He removed his backpack—a big sack fastened on his back with leather strips—and quickly retrieved a pair of sewing needles long like his fingers and thin enough for their tips to glint. In front of the skeletal fox’s surprised eyes, and without wasting any time, Marcus got to work.
Treasure hunting was a tough endeavor. The dangers and difficulties were many and varied, meaning that a good treasure hunter should be able to deal with all sorts of inconveniences. They should possess various skills for all sorts of situations and scenarios.
Marcus wasn’t a good treasure hunter—he was the best.
Lockpicking, deception, persuasion, analytical thinking, spatial awareness, confidence, calmness in the face of danger, driving all sorts of contraptions, animal riding, pickpocketing, running, climbing…
The list was endless. In the many years of chasing his luck, Marcus had come across a large spectrum of skills from all walks of life, and his talent lay in learning new things. He wasn’t a master at anything, not really, but he could do everything at a decent level.
Jack of all, master of none, as well as money, luck, and perseverance. That’s how one became a successful treasure hunter.
A sweet click resounded in Marcus’s ears as the lock gave way. He was in. His trembling hand grabbed the door handle again, turning it, pulling the door open…
And the world fell away. His heart thumped in his ears. His eyes stared at all the coffers simultaneously, each filled with coins to the brim.
Taels… His eyes shone golden. So many taels!
Marcus was frozen. A moment later, he turned to stare at Foxy.
“Foxy… We are rich, girl. Rich!”
Resisting the urge to squeal in happiness, he mutedly raised his hands at the air and waved them around. Foxy gave him a suspicious look, and then, not quite understanding, did a small tippity-dance of victory.
A shutter’s rattle pulled Marcus out of his reverie.
“Quick, girl, quick! We must get all these to the airship!”
There weren’t just coffers in the room; there were also closed chests, artifacts, jewels, documents, jars on shelves, and books in cases—some were more precious than the coffers, admittedly, but the luster of coin was tough to beat. As for Marcus… At this moment, he didn’t want to think and judge values—he wanted to take the coins, own them, and let them captivate him.
“Quick, quick! Take all you can!”
The various supplies which made up the previous contents of Marcus’s backpack were already on the floor as he kneeled by the coffers and poured handful after handful of money into it—dozens of coins at a time—stretching the cloth so much he feared it might break. By the time he was done, there were a few thousand inside; a small fortune.
Heavy-hearted, he pulled on the cord and sealed it before placing it on his back—which could also break by the weight, but some risks were worth taking.
Foxy held a smaller sack of money in her mouth, but there were many coins left, and the thought of leaving these poor taels alone made Marcus’s heart bleed. He fell to the ground and brought his face close to a confused mouse’s, forgetting his fear for a moment as he called out, “Jerry! Jerry! Are you here? Speak to me, Manna damn it!”
The mouse’s confusion intensified for a moment before it jumped in place.
“Okay, you’re there. I need you to gather every single mouse you don’t need, Jerry, and send them here. This is of utmost importance!”
The mouse tilted its head.
“Have them grab taels and follow us,” Marcus hissed. “We must take all we can! We can’t leave them here, all alone and sad!”
The mouse stayed still. He waited. A moment later, it shrugged, and Marcus immediately jumped back up. “Great!” he exclaimed, barely remembering to keep his voice low. “Come on, guys, let’s go! All of you, grab a coin and follow me!”
They did; and soon, a peculiar line of creatures crossed the manor. At the front was a forty-two-year-old man groaning under his backpack’s weight, followed by a skeletal fox who munched on a bag of money. Finally, there came a dozen mice, one behind the other, each carrying a shiny bronze coin.
In the dark, they seemed like a line of walking taels, and Marcus was very proud of that.
