Spank or Treat 2014 Read online

  “Well, I dunno.” Alex peered up, squinting a little, then he looked back down to the ground. “If you got a running start, you might hit the flagstones. Just have to make sure you go head-first.”

  “I’d probably just trip and go rolling down the hill, probably through a patch of nettles while I was at it, because why not, and then I’d be even more sore, and it’s not like I can have a bath and a good, long soak, is it?”

  “I should hope so,” Alex returned a little too quickly. “Sorry, love, but you reek.” As if Lucas didn’t already know that. “Why can’t you have a bath?”

  Lucas’s mouth pinched and he leveled a surly glare on Alex. He held up his hand, and the vase, perforce, came along for the ride.

  “What?” Alex lifted an eyebrow. “The sorcerer will drown?”

  Lucas rolled his eyes. “God, you’re lucky you’re gorgeous. I can’t exactly draw water one-handed, can I?”

  Alex ignored the insult. “Since when have you had to draw water for a bath? Did the bathtub explode, too, or something?”

  “No, but give it time,” Lucas said. “And I’ve had to draw water since this morning when I woke and found the pumps aren’t working.”

  Now Alex was the one frowning. “None of them?”

  “None of them. Even the one in the back garden. So, I asked Olive to stop on her way to the Rimbauds’ and send Mister Greenly by; he’s been here since just after breakfast, fighting with various pumps and such and generally cursing Rolling Green and its apparently ‘new-fangled, too-modern and confusing’ plumbing system.”

  “Three pumps and a well are confusing?”

  “Well, according to Mister Greenly, three pumps is two more than ‘decent folk’ ought to have and he’s most definitely not impressed with a tub having a room all to itself. I didn’t have the nerve to show him the water-closet. Which, by the way, is also not working.” With a grumble, Lucas blew hair out of his eyes—again—annoyed that the vase prevented him from something even as simple as retying the stupid ribbon.

  Alex gave his head a little shake then pinched at the bridge of his nose. “All right, so you can’t draw water from the well with the vase on your hand, is that the problem, then?”

  Lucas only nodded and dropped his hand into his lap—gingerly, because really, all he needed now was a thump to the stones—and found himself vaguely disturbed that somewhere along the line, he’d come to think of it as “the vase-hand”.

  “So, why don’t you just smash the poxy thing?” Alex wanted to know. “That’ll get it off.”

  It would and it wasn’t as though it hadn’t occurred to Lucas, but: “First of all,” he replied, “it isn’t a ‘poxy thing’, it’s my mother’s and I don’t want to break it. She’ll kill me. And then she'll be disappointed. She'll give me the look. You know what the look does to me, Alex!”

  “Which is why she does it,” Alex muttered under his breath. At least he didn't roll his eyes. His stupid gorgeous blue eyes. In his stupid gorgeous face.

  Lucas slumped and bent again to examine the ground. “And second of all, the way this day is going, I’d probably open a vein in the process and I really don’t think—”

  “Well, thar ’tis,” a graveled voice cut in abruptly; Alex and Lucas both turned to see Mister Greenly swaggering his way around the side of the house. Lucas quickly secreted the vase-hand between his knees again. Refused to acknowledge how naturally “vase-hand” was inserting itself into his thoughts. “’Twill have to be re-dug.”

  Lucas blinked. “The well?”

  With the patronizing look Greenly threw at him, Lucas was surprised he didn’t saunter on over and pat his head.

  “Yuh,” was all Greenly said.

  Alex turned to Lucas. “I thought you said you were drawing water from it this morning.”

  “Well… yes, I was.”

  Alex cast a wary glance back to Greenly. “Why would it need to be re-dug, if it isn’t dry?”

  “Well, the pumps ain’t pumpin’ is they?” Greenly demanded, somewhat indignantly.

  Alex’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to retort, but Lucas cut him off. “How much will it cost?” Not that it mattered; he might just hand over the keys to the strongbox and Rolling Green itself right now, if he could just get a bath out of the deal.

  Greenly turned that patronizing look on him again, and Lucas took a moment to wonder why he was feeling a little put out that Alex got a fiery glance from the old man and yet Lucas himself only rated condescension.

  “Hard to say,” Greenly answered. “It’s charged by the foot and ’twould depend on how many feet down we’d have to dig.”

  “And how long would it take?”

  Please, please, please, let him say an hour or two….

  “Hard to say,” Greenly said again. “I can have my lads out here tomorrow, but I wouldn’t count on having no water for at least a fortnight.”

  “A fortnight?!”

  No. Nonononono! A bath. All Lucas wanted was a bath! It wasn’t so much to ask, really. Lucas reeked, Alex had even said so, didn’t Greenly understand? And he was sore and he was tired, and he needed to sink into hot water up to his collarbones, revel in the slippery sluice of soap against skin, wash and rinse his hair until it didn’t smell like a days-old campfire and. Just. NO! He’d had a bloody horrible day and now he needed one lousy, stupid, sodding bath!

  “That’s assumin’ we hit water on the first dig,” Greenly went on. “Sometimes we don’t and then we have to start all over again. ’Course, you’d still have to pay fer the first dig, whether we hit water or no.”

  Lucas wondered if the sudden breeze was from the flapping of his jaw. “Well, can’t you tell where the water is?”

  Greenly lifted a bushy gray eyebrow. “Can you?”

  Lucas’s cheeks pinked a little. “Well, no, but… well, I’m not a well-digger, am I? Anyway, you said you had the dousing magic, didn’t you? I mean, isn’t that what it’s for?”

  Greenly narrowed his eyes to glittering little slits. “Dousing don’t allus work, and it en’t exact. Sometimes it finds water deeper ’n I can dig.”

  Lucas stood, quickly slid his hand behind his back, and tried very hard to look like a person who did not have a vase stuck on his hand, thank you. “Look here, are you telling me that if I want water, I’m going to have to pay you for however-many wells you decide to dig and that you expect me to—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Alex laid a quelling hand to Lucas’s arm. “There will be no well-digging because a new well is not necessary, since the old one still has water.”

  Well, at least Alex got the patronizing look this time.

  “Water or no, it don’t matter much if ye cain’t get it up from under, do it? Three pumps and not a one of ’em drawin’ water, and if that don’t call for a well dug, then—”

  “Are the pumps in working order?” Alex cut in.

  Lucas was torn between the satisfaction of seeing Greenly’s mouth pinch so tight you could probably jam a piece of coal in it and pop out a diamond, and indignation that Alex was in the process of trying to step into Lucas’s business and manage a situation over which Lucas had lost control with the first glimpse of mating squirrels.

  “As I said,” Greenly grated slowly, “three pumps and not a one of ’em workin’ proper.”

  “Yes, but are they not working or simply not drawing water?”

  “Well, since a pump’s only purpose is to draw water, I’m thinkin’ it don’t rightly matter, do it?”

  There was a telltale tic in Alex’s jaw before it set itself firm as his eyes took on thunder, and all Lucas could think was oh, here we go, this is more like it. Because he knew that look. He decided he would trade his indignation for what promised to be a bloody good show. There was an uncomfortable moment or two when he wondered if a filmy gown, a pointy hat and a scarf were entirely necessary to his new role as Damsel in Distress, but it turned even more uncomfortable w
hen he realized he’d actually consider it if it got him a bath. Lucas mentally kicked himself in the arse—really, really hard—then sat back down and relegated himself to observer.

  “If the pumps are working,” Alex answered just as slowly and just as firmly, “and not drawing water, yet the well hasn’t dried, it most probably means that there has been a drop in the water-table and does not mean a new well must be dug.” He turned to Lucas. “You’ve new tenants, yes? You said a few months ago that Dandridge’s cousin… what was his name?”

  “Albon Senbrith.”

  “Senbrith, right. You said he and his new wife had broken ground and the house would be finished before autumn.”

  Lucas nodded, not at all sure where this might be going. “They moved in the first of this month.”

  “And they’ve livestock?”

  Again, Lucas nodded. “Pigs and cattle and a few goats. Almost a hundred head of cattle, actually.”

  “Which take up a lot of water.” Alex turned back to Greenly. “Which, in turn, tends to lower the water-table.”

  Greenly rolled his eyes, then looked at Alex as though he were a very slow child. “Yuh,” he replied with a bit of smug satisfaction. “So, when you run out of water, you dig a new well!”

  Ooooh, here was a crossroads and Lucas eyed Alex carefully, waiting to see which way it would go. In ten minutes, Greenly was either going to want to call the constables on Alex or shag him into next week.

  A slowly unfurling smile; a tilt of the head….

  Lucas only just choked off a snort as he watched Alex’s gears switch and haughty temper turned, just like that, to solicitous charm. Lucas had no idea where Alex was going with any of this, but he’d seen him in action before, and he knew that one really shouldn’t argue over the nature of water and wells with the man who had basically, and quite accidentally, re-invented irrigation methods for half of Orchard Downs; Lucas simply leaned back against the porch steps and watched. Despite the lingering disquiet over the whole “Damsel” thing, Alex had officially engaged The Charisma and Lucas wasn’t about to miss Greenly getting blindsided by it.

  “No,” Alex returned through a pleasant smile. “A man of your knowledge certainly knows the nature of the ebb and flow of the water-table. Why, you’re obviously very successful and know your business, else Master Tripp here wouldn’t depend upon you so to get him out of these taxing straits.”

  Lucas tried to look suitably downtrodden.

  “In fact,” Alex went on, “I’m only sorry you weren’t about when I was redesigning the water system for Booker’s Spinney. I’ve no doubt you would have had at least a thing or two to tell me.”

  Alex stopped, his face twisting now into—to Lucas at least, because he knew better—comically overdone alarm.

  “I’m so sorry, Mister Greenly!” Alex dipped a small bow. “Alex Booker, pleased to meet you.” He leaned in. “You must forgive Master Tripp for not introducing us. He’s having a bit of a day.”

  Ah, there it was—that spark of recognition. Lucas could tell Greenly had heard all about the youngest Booker and the innovations over which so many had rolled their eyes. Until, that is, those innovations had proven so successful and now almost every large farm throughout Orchard Downs had copied or at least tried to copy Alex’s methods.

  Greenly bobbed a mechanical little bow. “Dunston Greenly, a pleasure to—”

  “So, anyway,” Alex said breezily, “I’ve no doubt you know that when there is water underground and in the immediate vicinity of already placed pumps, you needn’t go to all the trouble of digging a new well, am I right?”

  A twist of the brow from Greenly. “Uh… yes?”

  “Of course!” Alex widened his smile. “See? I knew you knew your business.” He cut a chastising look at Lucas. “Honestly, Lucas, why can’t you just let the man do his job?”

  Lucas turned to Alex, thought about whacking him with the vase-hand, but decided he wanted water a whole lot more than he wanted to blacken Alex’s eye. At the moment, anyway. He shrugged, trying not to roll his eyes, and did his best to look chastened.

  “What Master Tripp couldn’t know,” Alex went on, “because he is not, as he has already admitted, a well-digger”—Alex paused pointedly, and both he and Greenly cast sideways glances at Lucas, one eyebrow each sliding up skeptically; Lucas did roll his eyes this time—“is that when your water-table has ebbed—and I think we’ve agreed that it has, yes?”

  “Er….” A slow nod from Greenly. “Yes?”

  “Right,” said Alex. “When your water-table has ebbed, you simply lower the shaft of the pump several feet so that the siphon can reach the water that’s still down there, only a bit lower than it was!”

  Greenly’s mouth snapped shut. He stared at Alex for a moment, jaw twitching, then: “Aye, I s’pose that might work,” he ventured slowly. “I was going t’ try that next.”

  Alex must have recognized it for the grudging conciliation it was, because he merely nodded agreeably. “Well, why don’t you try it with one and we’ll see where that leaves us, yes?”

  It was at this point that Lucas forgot all about any envy or indignation or embarrassment at Alex handling Mister Greenly better than Lucas did. Because it appeared he might, after all, have water. And a bath was topping the long list of Things Lucas Needs Right Now. A good, stiff drink was landing right about second.

  “Start with the bathing-room one, please,” Lucas told Greenly and ignored the disapproving look he received in return. Perhaps the kitchen pump was the more important one in the scheme of things, but he could always wash dishes in the bathtub if he really had to.

  “Yuh,” grunted Greenly then he stomped back around the side of the house.

  Alex sighed, shook his head. “All right, you’re going to sit right there and not move, and I’m going to go and start the fire in the bathing-room then bring up some water from the well. By the time it’s hot, perhaps he’ll have that pump working and you’ll have your bath. How does that sound?”

  Lucas’s eyes were not burning with tears of relief. “Heavenly,” was all he said, and he sighed then rested his head back to his hand.

  “Good,” said Alex. “And we’ll have to see about getting you some supper, I think. I’ll wager you’ve not eaten today, have you?”

  All right. Here it was: he could admit that his stomach was feeling a little as though it might start to eat itself any minute, since Lucas had completely forgotten to eat—what with all the ruckus going on all day, one thing right after the other, plus a vase on his hand, which made pretty much everything a little difficult to manage, let alone a frying pan, and let’s don’t even mention a fork—and chance whatever evil thing Alex concocted in Miss Emma’s beloved and pristine kitchen, or….

  Or he could just starve.

  He wondered if stomachs really could eat themselves.

  “Big lunch,” he muttered to his toes. “Lots of nibblers and such, you know, not hungry at all, really.” His stomach gave a mighty gripe at the lie and Lucas hunched himself in, hoping Alex didn’t hear.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Fine, fine, just fine,” Lucas babbled. “No food, don’t need anything to eat, thank you, perfectly fine, just a bath.”

  A pause and Lucas could almost feel Alex’s assessing gaze. “All right then,” was the doubtful reply. “Now, you just sit tight and… I’ll… who is...? Oh, bugger.”

  Lucas didn’t even have the time to lift his head and follow Alex’s disgusted gaze, before the voice hit him square between the eardrums.

  “Hoy, there, Lucas Tripp, I’ve a bone to pick with you!”

  “Oh,” said Lucas as he watched Walker stride up the lane, “this just keeps getting better and better.”

  Bastion Walker, Lucas had decided a very long time ago, was one of the very few people Lucas genuinely didn’t like. Which was fine, because Walker despised Lucas with a passion he made obvious in every narrow look and lordly sne
er. A bully and a greedy grasper to boot, Walker had made it quite clear amongst those who might listen that, not only could he do better as Master of Rolling Green than Lucas ever could, but that Lucas’s relation to the Queen was obviously the only thing keeping him from a lifetime spent wallowing in gutters reciting very bad poetry for crusts of bread.

  And all because a six-year-old Lucas had once refused to relinquish his holiday spending money to a seven-year-old Walker. The resulting fracas ended in a bloody nose for Lucas on top of a magically induced case of hairy palms, and then a hasty and ill-advised but well-meant threat from the Palace itself for Walker, noting that if he didn’t desist immediately from laying hands upon the Queen’s relations, he might find the now-defunct but fondly remembered tradition of the stocks had come inexplicably back into fashion. Not only that, but Walker would be barred from ever practicing magic in the Realm, should he not learn “how to better contain his paltry and really quite cheap ‘gift’ for unenviable parlor tricks.” The Queen’s words, not Lucas’s.

  Okay, Lucas’s too.

  The threat was immediately retracted—the first part of it, not the second; the Queen could be reasoned with... mostly—right after Walker was compelled to lift the curse and Lucas’s palms no longer needed shaving, but a Walker, apparently, never forgives nor forgets.

  “What do you think your game is, is what I’d like to know.” Walker gave Alex a narrow, sideways glance and lifted his nose. “Booker.” The name came out as an audible sneer.

  Apparently, Alex had decided that Walker wasn’t worth The Charisma, because his face took on bored disgust and he rolled his eyes. “Wanker,” he said, then, “Oh, so sorry, I meant Walker, of course,” before dismissing Walker in favor of inspecting his fingernails.

  Lucas had to stifle a snort when Walker bristled. “Good afternoon, Walker,” Lucas said and he really did try, but he didn’t think he kept the amused resignation out of his tone very well. “What’s this bone, then?”

  Walker was still glaring daggers at Alex, but he lifted his chin and turned to Lucas. “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in, at least? Or shall I stand out here on the step, without so much as a cup of tea, pleading my case to the Master like a common tenant?”