Shadewell Shenanigans Read Online Free

swallowed the bait.”
    Modeset raised an eyebrow, his lips on the brink of a smile. “They’ve both applied to meet the princess?” he hazarded.
    “Yes, milord. Apparently, they’re both on the way to Phlegm.”
    “Alone?”
    “Well, yes, milord, apart from the dwarf.”
    Modeset nodded. “We always knew he’d be part of the equation. King Phew has made all the … preparations?”
    “Yes, milord. His herald says both men will be well entertained, and each’ll be given a day to spend in the princess’s company. Then they’ll go to the arena to see which one gets to propose.”
    “All as it should be,” said Modeset, tucking in the edge of his impromptu bandage.
    Pegrand hesitated in the doorway, looking momentarily doubtful. “What if they kill each other, milord?”
    “A bonus,” said Modeset quickly.
    “And if they don’t?”
    “If they don’t, Pegrand, then good King Phew can begin to put the rest of my ingenious plan into action. Now, be so kind as to fetch dinner.”
    “Er … yes, right away, milord. I’m afraid it’s grit ’n’ pebble soup again, though. They seem to go in for that a lot here.”
    Modeset let out a deep and painful breath. “If there’s nothing else, Pegrand,” he sighed, “I’ll be in the archivist’s suite, reminiscing about better times.”
    Pegrand nodded. “I get the hint, milord. Dinner won’t be long.”
    There came a small, embarrassed knock on the door of the Phlegmian archives.
    The custodian of the archives, an ancient man in full possession of his considerable faculties, looked up from a dusty, leather-bound tome and wondered whether he’d imagined the sound. After all, no one had visited the archives in what seemed like an age.
    Silence. Then, again: knock, knock.
    The archivist rummaged around on the table for his spectacles and, upon locating them, struggled to his feet.
    “Come in?” he called.
    The door opened a fraction, and Duke Modeset stuck his head through the gap. “Excuse me, but I wondered whether I might trouble you for a moment.”
    The archivist nodded his head, discharging a torrential mixture of dust and dandruff. “Of course, of course!” he spluttered. “The archives are free for everyone to enjoy. Please, be my guest.”
    Modeset nodded and slipped through the door, pushing it closed behind him. The room was filled from floor to ceiling with books, and when the elderly archivist motioned for his guest to occupy a seat, it took the duke five minutes to identify one. Eventually, he brushed a pile of scrolls from a suitable-looking stool, and took his rest.
    “Now,” the archivist began, peering at Modeset over the top of his spectacles, “what exactly are you looking for?”
    The duke hesitated for a moment, then smiled. “I understand you have records here for Crestwell.”
    The archivist clapped his hands. “Of course! We have details of every priest to have served under—”
    Modeset shook his head. “Not the cathedral,” he said. “The school. ”
    There was a moment of stony silence.
    “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose that information to anyone except select members of the nobility.”
    “I am Duke Modeset, Lord of Fogrise and former ruler of Dullitch and its environs.”
    The archivist looked suddenly flustered. “Oh, I’m so sorry, milord! I didn’t recognize—that is, I’m afraid that I don’t see very well these days.”
    “Never mind,” Modeset said. “But if I may—”
    “Of course! Um … I need to, that is, could I possibly examine your seal?”
    Modeset nodded, producing his hallmark from a breast pocket and proffering it to the old man for closer inspection. The archivist eventually handed it back and began to waddle over toward one of the giant volume stacks in the far corner of the room.
    “An old pupil, lordship?” he muttered, lifting the top three books and placing them on the floor beside the pile.
    “Yes,” Modeset muttered. “Unfortunately, I am.”
    The archivist