Free Mistle Child (Undertaken Trilogy) by Ari Berk Page A

rasped from some unseen room deeper in the house.
    Silas wandered down the back hall leading toward the kitchen.
    “In here!” his great-grandfather called out again, and Silas walked through a butler’s pantry into what must have once been a very grand dining room. The dusty mahogany table was at least thirty feet long, and tall candles burned in silver candelabras along its length.
    The corpse of Augustus Howesman, sat at the head of the table in an elaborately carved high-backed chair. Before him, several tarnished silver trays were piled with fruit and cheese and cold meats. Two glasses stood brimming with wine, and an ornate silver ewer promised more.
    Silas’s mouth hung open in surprise.
    The corpse noticed his expression, smiled, and said, “What? I shopped.” Clearly pleased with himself, he beckoned for Silas to come down and join him.
    “How did you know I was coming?” Silas asked.
    “Call it a hunch,” replied his great-grandfather, slowly closing and opening one eye in what might have been a wink.
    “You made supper?”
    “I have prepared a little something for you.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Silas exclaimed, clearly impressed.
    “Well, good help has always been hard to find, and in these savage times, a man must fend for himself. I’ve been feeling a little more spry lately and rather enjoyed my walk to the store. So, I remain the deathless lord of winter, but I still have a bit of spring in my step, as you can see. Besides, you’re looking thin.”
    Silas sat down at the table next to his great-grandfather and filled his plate with food.
    “What may I get you?” he asked his great-grandfather.
    “Oh, Silas, nothing at all. Thank you.”
    “Sorry, I wasn’t sure—”
    “No, no. I don’t eat. But I can draw a kind of pleasure from food, a sort of sustenance. The offerings and little sacrifices folks used to leave on the porches were always such a boon. So the glass of wine and these victuals serve me in their way. I like being close to them and feel more vigorous for it. And watching you eat, well, that brings me a particular joy.”
    “I didn’t know, or I would have brought you something on my other visits.”
    “Not necessary,” his great-grandfather said, and the corpse put his large hand on Silas’s shoulder and patted it tenderly. “The company of loving kin is itself a form of manna. The best sort, I think. I am sure your frequent visits are responsible for my recent invigoration. Why, it only took me most of the day to walk to the store and back. Slow and steady wins the race, eh? Tell me, how is your mother? She comes sometimes. My granddaughter is still a little formal, and doesn’t like to make eye contact, but she talks more.”
    “I think my mom is getting reacquainted with Lichport, in her own way. But it’s been hard. She spent a long time trying not to think about it. But it’s getting better, slowly, and between the two of us, things have been improving too,” Silas said.
    “I suspect that big house she’s living in is helping her adjust.” Augustus Howesman laughed.
    “It’s more than that, she . . . well, she just seems relaxed.”
    “You needn’t explain, grandson. We are a family accustomed to a certain degree of luxury. Frankly, I never understood how my granddaughter ever thought she could be happy in Saltsbridge.”
    “She wasn’t happy there at all,” agreed Silas.
    “No, I don’t suspect she was. But that’s all in the past, is it not? And here we all are, a family again.” A small, satisfied smile spread briefly across Augustus Howesman’s taut face. “But grandson,” he continued, his smile vanishing, “there is a look in your eyes that tells me this is not the usual visit made for the sake of sharing family gossip. Indeed, I believe I know something about why you’re here. Message from the Big House, eh?”
    “How did you know?”
    “I saw the messenger come from Arvale. Came right down the street in front of my