The Dresden Files / Bob / #27. Dark
Title: Tools of the Trade
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: The Dresden Files (tv-verse)
Characters: Justin Morningway, Hrothbert
Prompt: 27. Dark
Word Count: 1,588
Rating: G
Summary: An important first encounter.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me. Just passing through.
Table: Here There be Ghosts
At the conclusion of dinner, Justin was surprised when Father laid a firm hand upon his arm before he could leave the table.
"Wait," said Morningway Senior. His dark gaze turned toward his mistress seated at the opposite end then, sliding past her, came to rest upon his daughter. "Leave us."
Margaret boldly met his gaze. For a harrowing second, Justin thought that she might actually defy Father to his face this time; but then moment passed and his sister looked away.
"Yes, Father," said Margaret stiffly and stood, loudly scraping the chair across the hardwood floor. She ignored the most recent bleached blonde bimbo pretending to be the lady of the manor and stomped off without a backward glance.
The trophy wife waited until the disagreeable brat was gone before standing herself and, with a dazzling, vacuous smile, flounced out of the dining room. Justin saw his father's gaze linger on the woman's ample, well rounded ass until she was lost from view.
When Morningway's attention finally returned to his firstborn, he said, "Your tutor informs me that you have excelled at your lessons."
"Yes, sir."
"He is especially pleased by your progress with your 'advanced' studies. In fact, he believes you have great potential in that regard."
Justin nodded, knowing better than to do more than acknowledge the rare compliment. No matter how well shielded the Morningway estate, it was always possible that someone on the Council had discovered a way to break through their wards and scry a conversation. For that reason among others, the word thaumaturgy was never uttered aloud.
"Do you enjoy it?"
"Yes, sir. Very much." Was he imagining it or was there actually a gleam of pride in Father's eyes?
Morningway abruptly stood. "Then it's time you learned something of your heritage. Come."
Father was already striding for the door before Justin quite realized what was happening. Surprised, the teenager jumped out of his chair, nearly knocking it over as he hurried to follow. Eager, Justin thought he knew where Father was taking him but he hardly dared believe it until they stood before the heavy wooden doors that shielded the Study from the rest of the house.
"There is no physical key," said Morningway. "It responds to magic alone." He glanced at his son. "Mine, for the moment," he warned. He knew that he need not remind Justin of the horrific death that had befallen the last interloper who had tried to breech the wards. "But the time will soon come when all within will be available to you."
"When?" Justin blurted out and very nearly clapped his hands over his mouth the instant the word escaped.
There was a hint of amusement in Father's tone when he replied, "Soon. Patience, boy."
Morningway rested his right palm against the finely grained walnut and spoke a Word. The Death Magic vanished with a slight glimmer of lurid red. When the lock disengaged with an audible click, he turned the ornate brass knobs and opened the double doors, admitting his son for the very first time.
Justin hardly realized that he had been holding his breath until the doors were flung wide and he caught his first glimpse of Father's inner sanctum. It was a strikingly masculine room furnished in rich, dark woods and exquisite, expensive antiques. A thick oriental carpet woven with mystical designs covered the polished wooden floor, softening the sound of their footsteps. Tall windows of leaded glass let in the last rays of the setting sun, touching the heavy velvet drapes with russet and gold. Everywhere he turned were floor to ceiling shelves filled with books, rolled parchment, jars, and unusual objects.
"Look around," Morningway invited his son with a magnanimous sweep of his hand. Standing behind the study's ornate desk, he watched closely as the boy tentatively explored, noting the volumes that he touched and the items that he examined. "When you are ready, there is something I wish to show you."
Intrigued, Justin immediately turned his full attention to Father. Morningway's broad hand rested upon the dome of a rune-engraved skull acting as a ghoulish paperweight.
"Is it real?" asked Justin, stooping to look into the dark, bony eye sockets with a boy's morbid fascination.
"Quite real." Morningway tapped the cranium with a thick finger. "This relic represents the last of the mortal remains of Hrothbert of Bainbridge."
"The Necromancer?"
"None other."
Justin regarded the skull with renewed interest and curiosity. "It must be hundreds of years old!"
"Nearly eight hundred," Morningway confirmed. "Tell me; what do you make of the runes?"
"They're warnings, I think." Justin lifted a finger, not touching the yellowed bone but instead tracing a rune in the air as if repetition would help jog his memory. "This one's a binding spell." He frowned. "This one, too." And a third. A fourth. Fifth… In fact, the closer he looked, the more binding spells he could see, all intricately woven together in a seemingly endless pattern. Ah, but here was a sigil that was clearly different. "This one's a curse."
"Correct." This time Morningway did smile. "You will do well indeed." Then, raising his voice, he snapped, "Show yourself, Ghost!"
The skull's hollow eyes suddenly flared with hellish light, startling Justin into taking a stumbling step backward. A small ball of orange and black flame shot out of the jagged triangular hole in bone and zipped to hover a short distance away. A moment later it elongated and solidified into the image of a man. A very solid looking man.
The stranger's features were pale and wore what appeared to be a perpetually suspicious, haughty expression. His hair and eyebrows were snow white over piercing, icy blue eyes. Tall and lean, he was impeccably attired in a contemporary sharp black suit, deep burgundy weskit and neckerchief. Like a butler awaiting instructions, he remained perfectly motionless, his arms and long, elegant fingers stiff by his sides.
"What you see before you is the Necromancer's ghost," said Morningway briskly.
Justin's eyes widened. " You're Hrothbert of Bainbridge? The Hrothbert?"
Those sharp blue eyes met his with disdain. "I am," the image replied in an imperious tone.
Justin looked from the ghost to the skull then back again. "That's why there are so many spells on the skull! You're bound to it!"
"Eternally," confirmed the ghost with a curt nod.
"It is bound to the skull," said Morningway, pleased by his son's quick understanding, "And bound to serve whoever possesses it."
Justin looked puzzled. "What use is a ghost? He can't pick anything up or move things around."
Morningway scowled. "It cannot, no. But it holds the knowledge of 800 years of magic and history as well as an understanding of potions making that is unrivaled. It is an extremely valuable tool and completely loyal. Ask and it is compelled to answer, no matter the nature of the question."
There was something in Father's tone and expression that spoke of more than just potions and magic tricks. Justin considered the ghost then smiled his comprehension. Of course! Hrothbert of Bainbridge was known to have been a notorious practitioner of the darker arts. The ghost probably knew spells that had long since been forgotten by the living or destroyed by succeeding generations of the Council.
"So he's a kind of magical encyclopedia."
"IT!" Morningway snapped, the forcefulness of the word making his son jump. "NEVER refer to it as if it were a person. It is a ghost; an insubstantial shade. Do not fall into the trap of believing it capable of emotion or true feelings."
"No, Father," said Justin meekly.
"It is merely magical intellect in a form that can be readily accessed." Morningway thrust a hand through the image, ignoring the icy chill that raced up his arm at the contact with the spirit's ectoplasm. "It feels nothing and cares for nothing, nor can it. It is incapable of doing so. It is an artifact; a construct only. Its sole purpose is to serve. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
Morning gave a curt nod then turned to the ghost. "This is my son and heir," he said. "You will obey him in all things except where it is in direct opposition to my orders. You will not engage him in idle conversation. You will not offer him your personal opinions, for you have none. You will teach him to the best of your ability all there is to know about the topics that I deem important. Are my instructions clear?"
"Crystal," said the ghost tersely.
"Then you are dismissed."
Without another word or glance at man or boy, the ghost vanished back into its skull.
Morningway rested his hand upon the relic once more. "This artifact has been passed down through our bloodline for generations. It is the most powerful magical resource that we possess. Within this room it is shielded from prying eyes." The Council's eyes. "Never speak of it or take it beyond these walls. The knowledge it possesses could be our ruin should it fall into the wrong hands."
"Yes, Father," said Justin dutifully. "I understand."
In a tiny linen closet in a dark corner of the second floor, Margaret softly closed the small compact mirror she had been using to spy upon Father and her brother. She, too, understood the full meaning of their conversation and, more importantly, the power that the skull could convey.
Whether that knowledge would one day rescue or damn her, it was too soon to say.
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: The Dresden Files (tv-verse)
Characters: Justin Morningway, Hrothbert
Prompt: 27. Dark
Word Count: 1,588
Rating: G
Summary: An important first encounter.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me. Just passing through.
Table: Here There be Ghosts
At the conclusion of dinner, Justin was surprised when Father laid a firm hand upon his arm before he could leave the table.
"Wait," said Morningway Senior. His dark gaze turned toward his mistress seated at the opposite end then, sliding past her, came to rest upon his daughter. "Leave us."
Margaret boldly met his gaze. For a harrowing second, Justin thought that she might actually defy Father to his face this time; but then moment passed and his sister looked away.
"Yes, Father," said Margaret stiffly and stood, loudly scraping the chair across the hardwood floor. She ignored the most recent bleached blonde bimbo pretending to be the lady of the manor and stomped off without a backward glance.
The trophy wife waited until the disagreeable brat was gone before standing herself and, with a dazzling, vacuous smile, flounced out of the dining room. Justin saw his father's gaze linger on the woman's ample, well rounded ass until she was lost from view.
When Morningway's attention finally returned to his firstborn, he said, "Your tutor informs me that you have excelled at your lessons."
"Yes, sir."
"He is especially pleased by your progress with your 'advanced' studies. In fact, he believes you have great potential in that regard."
Justin nodded, knowing better than to do more than acknowledge the rare compliment. No matter how well shielded the Morningway estate, it was always possible that someone on the Council had discovered a way to break through their wards and scry a conversation. For that reason among others, the word thaumaturgy was never uttered aloud.
"Do you enjoy it?"
"Yes, sir. Very much." Was he imagining it or was there actually a gleam of pride in Father's eyes?
Morningway abruptly stood. "Then it's time you learned something of your heritage. Come."
Father was already striding for the door before Justin quite realized what was happening. Surprised, the teenager jumped out of his chair, nearly knocking it over as he hurried to follow. Eager, Justin thought he knew where Father was taking him but he hardly dared believe it until they stood before the heavy wooden doors that shielded the Study from the rest of the house.
"There is no physical key," said Morningway. "It responds to magic alone." He glanced at his son. "Mine, for the moment," he warned. He knew that he need not remind Justin of the horrific death that had befallen the last interloper who had tried to breech the wards. "But the time will soon come when all within will be available to you."
"When?" Justin blurted out and very nearly clapped his hands over his mouth the instant the word escaped.
There was a hint of amusement in Father's tone when he replied, "Soon. Patience, boy."
Morningway rested his right palm against the finely grained walnut and spoke a Word. The Death Magic vanished with a slight glimmer of lurid red. When the lock disengaged with an audible click, he turned the ornate brass knobs and opened the double doors, admitting his son for the very first time.
Justin hardly realized that he had been holding his breath until the doors were flung wide and he caught his first glimpse of Father's inner sanctum. It was a strikingly masculine room furnished in rich, dark woods and exquisite, expensive antiques. A thick oriental carpet woven with mystical designs covered the polished wooden floor, softening the sound of their footsteps. Tall windows of leaded glass let in the last rays of the setting sun, touching the heavy velvet drapes with russet and gold. Everywhere he turned were floor to ceiling shelves filled with books, rolled parchment, jars, and unusual objects.
"Look around," Morningway invited his son with a magnanimous sweep of his hand. Standing behind the study's ornate desk, he watched closely as the boy tentatively explored, noting the volumes that he touched and the items that he examined. "When you are ready, there is something I wish to show you."
Intrigued, Justin immediately turned his full attention to Father. Morningway's broad hand rested upon the dome of a rune-engraved skull acting as a ghoulish paperweight.
"Is it real?" asked Justin, stooping to look into the dark, bony eye sockets with a boy's morbid fascination.
"Quite real." Morningway tapped the cranium with a thick finger. "This relic represents the last of the mortal remains of Hrothbert of Bainbridge."
"The Necromancer?"
"None other."
Justin regarded the skull with renewed interest and curiosity. "It must be hundreds of years old!"
"Nearly eight hundred," Morningway confirmed. "Tell me; what do you make of the runes?"
"They're warnings, I think." Justin lifted a finger, not touching the yellowed bone but instead tracing a rune in the air as if repetition would help jog his memory. "This one's a binding spell." He frowned. "This one, too." And a third. A fourth. Fifth… In fact, the closer he looked, the more binding spells he could see, all intricately woven together in a seemingly endless pattern. Ah, but here was a sigil that was clearly different. "This one's a curse."
"Correct." This time Morningway did smile. "You will do well indeed." Then, raising his voice, he snapped, "Show yourself, Ghost!"
The skull's hollow eyes suddenly flared with hellish light, startling Justin into taking a stumbling step backward. A small ball of orange and black flame shot out of the jagged triangular hole in bone and zipped to hover a short distance away. A moment later it elongated and solidified into the image of a man. A very solid looking man.
The stranger's features were pale and wore what appeared to be a perpetually suspicious, haughty expression. His hair and eyebrows were snow white over piercing, icy blue eyes. Tall and lean, he was impeccably attired in a contemporary sharp black suit, deep burgundy weskit and neckerchief. Like a butler awaiting instructions, he remained perfectly motionless, his arms and long, elegant fingers stiff by his sides.
"What you see before you is the Necromancer's ghost," said Morningway briskly.
Justin's eyes widened. " You're Hrothbert of Bainbridge? The Hrothbert?"
Those sharp blue eyes met his with disdain. "I am," the image replied in an imperious tone.
Justin looked from the ghost to the skull then back again. "That's why there are so many spells on the skull! You're bound to it!"
"Eternally," confirmed the ghost with a curt nod.
"It is bound to the skull," said Morningway, pleased by his son's quick understanding, "And bound to serve whoever possesses it."
Justin looked puzzled. "What use is a ghost? He can't pick anything up or move things around."
Morningway scowled. "It cannot, no. But it holds the knowledge of 800 years of magic and history as well as an understanding of potions making that is unrivaled. It is an extremely valuable tool and completely loyal. Ask and it is compelled to answer, no matter the nature of the question."
There was something in Father's tone and expression that spoke of more than just potions and magic tricks. Justin considered the ghost then smiled his comprehension. Of course! Hrothbert of Bainbridge was known to have been a notorious practitioner of the darker arts. The ghost probably knew spells that had long since been forgotten by the living or destroyed by succeeding generations of the Council.
"So he's a kind of magical encyclopedia."
"IT!" Morningway snapped, the forcefulness of the word making his son jump. "NEVER refer to it as if it were a person. It is a ghost; an insubstantial shade. Do not fall into the trap of believing it capable of emotion or true feelings."
"No, Father," said Justin meekly.
"It is merely magical intellect in a form that can be readily accessed." Morningway thrust a hand through the image, ignoring the icy chill that raced up his arm at the contact with the spirit's ectoplasm. "It feels nothing and cares for nothing, nor can it. It is incapable of doing so. It is an artifact; a construct only. Its sole purpose is to serve. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
Morning gave a curt nod then turned to the ghost. "This is my son and heir," he said. "You will obey him in all things except where it is in direct opposition to my orders. You will not engage him in idle conversation. You will not offer him your personal opinions, for you have none. You will teach him to the best of your ability all there is to know about the topics that I deem important. Are my instructions clear?"
"Crystal," said the ghost tersely.
"Then you are dismissed."
Without another word or glance at man or boy, the ghost vanished back into its skull.
Morningway rested his hand upon the relic once more. "This artifact has been passed down through our bloodline for generations. It is the most powerful magical resource that we possess. Within this room it is shielded from prying eyes." The Council's eyes. "Never speak of it or take it beyond these walls. The knowledge it possesses could be our ruin should it fall into the wrong hands."
"Yes, Father," said Justin dutifully. "I understand."
In a tiny linen closet in a dark corner of the second floor, Margaret softly closed the small compact mirror she had been using to spy upon Father and her brother. She, too, understood the full meaning of their conversation and, more importantly, the power that the skull could convey.
Whether that knowledge would one day rescue or damn her, it was too soon to say.