C H A P T E R  T W E N T Y - F O U R

AN OLD
BETRAYAL

Han left his horse at some distance from Lucius Frowsley’s place. It wasn’t that he wanted to sneak up on him. Well, actually, he did. It almost seemed like Lucius had been avoiding him since their meeting about Alger Waterlow. The Southbridge taverns had been complaining that they’d not been able to obtain any product from Lucius’s distillery.

Han walked up Old Woman Creek to Lucius’s usual fishing spot, but didn’t find him there. The creek bank had a desolate look, the grasses grown up as if nobody had sat there in some time.

Worry wormed through Han’s middle. What if Lucius had died? He was more than a thousand years old, after all. Supposedly, Crow had charmed him so he would live forever, but there was no guarantee. How long could a body last given hundreds of years of heavy drinking?

Then again, maybe Lucius’s product acted as a kind of preservative.

As Han approached the crumbling cabin, Dog greeted him in the yard, his entire back end wagging, seeming overjoyed to have a visitor.

“Is he in there?” he asked Dog, who, of course, didn’t answer. But loud snores emanated from inside the cabin.

Han knelt and rubbed Dog’s ears. The pup had a neglected look, his ribs showing through his battered coat. Han carried his water bowl to the creek and filled it. Dog took a few laps to be polite.

Han banged on the door. “Lucius! It’s me, Han Alister. Are you there?” He waited, then knocked again. “Lucius! I need to talk to you.”

The snoring broke off abruptly. To be replaced by swearing.

“Lucius?”

“Hold your horses!” Lucius bellowed. “You wake a man up in the middle of—”

“It’s the middle of the day,” Han called back. “Just so you know.”

Han heard scuffling noises, then the sound of someone peeing into a chamber pot. Finally, Lucius hauled the door open.

The old man had lost the veneer of respectability he’d recently acquired. He looked more unkempt, more tattered than before, like a long-neglected overgrown garden. He was skinnier than ever, to match his dog, his arms and legs skeletal under his clothes. He extended a burled hand toward Han, and it shook with palsy. He stank of product and unwashed flesh.

“Lucius,” Han whispered. “What’s happened?”

“It’s no use, boy,” Lucius said, wiping his clouded eyes. “Doesn’t matter how much I drink, I always wake up.”

No wonder taverns weren’t getting any product from Lucius. He was consuming it all himself.

“Come on,” Han said, taking the old man’s arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up a little.”

Lucius pulled away, shaking his head. “Just go away. Leave and never come back.”

“I want to talk to you,” Han said. “Or, rather, someone else does.”