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Worthing was taken away by the local authorities, a powerful mage among them to maintain his magickal bonds. He'd said nothing as they led him away from the estate, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. Lorham was found in the basement, injured but alive, and was immediately attended to by Willoughsby's private surgeon. The prognosis was positive; aside from a few burns and bruises, his injuries were mainly superficial. He would be on his feet within a few days. The same could not be said of the men at the Bentley; not one of them left the building of their own power. Further questioning of the men led to the discovery of a large cache of weapons and ammunition-all of it was confiscated by the Tarantian police. 
Sebastian allowed a cursory inspection by the surgeon, and a quick dressing of his wounds. He was gone within hours of the incident. A few days later, Perriman and Willoughsby sat together on the patio, drinking morning tea and enjoying one another's company. Perriman's wound was healing nicely, and he'd traded his sling for a comfortable cotton suit in the nicest shade of brown, compliments of Edward Willoughsby. His bag was packed and awaiting him in the front entrance. The sun was just coming out through a break in the clouds, and there was a hint of rain in the air. Everything was still, and, except for the slightest whisper of the wind in the maple groves, there was no sound at all. They spoke quietly, in deference to the serenity of the moment, leaning slightly towards one another in the soft morning light. "In the end, it was all so petty. An angry man, slighted, lashing out at those he felt were responsible." Perriman shook his head, sadly. "His plan was monstrous, but I can understand why he felt as he did." 
"One thing I've learned in my years, Mr. Smythe, is that evil finds its purchase in the places that make us men. Worthing was a dark and tormented soul, but we've all suffered similar misery." "Well said, Mr. Willoughsby." Perriman finished his tea, setting his cup down on the service. "I must again thank you for your courage and candor in all of this. If not for your warnings, all might have been lost." "And I must thank you, Mr. Smythe. It's twice I owe my life to you. You're always welcome in my home." Perriman nodded, and stood to leave. The gnome rose, offering a hand to the young mage, which Perriman took in both of his own. "Where to, Mr. Smythe? Directly back to Tulla? I suppose the elders there are expecting a full report..." "Actually, I've been in contact with Master Simeon, and he's been briefed on all that has transpired here. I've been given the option of...spending a little more time abroad. There's much to be learned in Tulla, but there are more than a few lessons one can only learn outside her walls." 
The gnome smiled. "I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Smythe. And where will it be? Caladon? Or perhaps Arland?" "I haven't yet decided. There are many roads out of Tarant-perhaps I'll just pick one of them and see where it takes me." Willoughsby led him to the door. "Please, allow me to take you back into the city. I've business there this afternoon, and the ride through the east quarter is very pleasant." "I'd be in your debt, good sir. And when we're back in the city proper, perhaps you could drop me at the train station? I've heard it's the most enjoyable way to travel." Willoughsby looked askance at Perriman, who was holding back a smile. And then the two burst into laughter as they passed through the front entrance and out the door. |