The Family Comes Calling

The Family Comes Calling

Lorist froze. What had Alisha just said? That beggar was looking for a young master named Norton Lorit from the north. She must mean Norton Lorist. Wasn't that this body's original name? Everyone had called him Locke for so long that he'd nearly forgotten he was Norton Lorist, the second young master of the Norton Family.

"What's wrong? I thought I heard Alisha say your name," El asked when he saw Lorist standing there in a daze. Having helped Lorist with his property deed and tax certificate, he knew Lorist's full name.

Lorist came to his senses and saw Alisha skipping toward the backyard. He stood. "The beggar Alisha mentioned is looking for someone named Norton Lorit, from the north. I think he means me. I'll go see. Maybe the family sent him."

"Oh?" El's interest was piqued. He got up with a chicken leg still between his teeth. "I'll come with you."

They reached the backyard and found the beggar Alisha had described. Dressed in rags, he sat on a flagstone drinking oat porridge. The two chicken legs she had given him lay beside him on a square of gray linen, apparently set aside to take away.

"Why aren't you eating the chicken legs?" Alisha asked as she gnawed on her own. "How can you eat porridge without anything to go with it? The chicken legs are really good!"

The beggar nodded to Alisha and smiled. "My beautiful little princess, thank you for giving me those delicious chicken legs. But I have a companion, and good things ought to be shared..."

Then the beggar saw Lorist. He went still, set down his bowl, and rubbed his eyes. After a careful look, he finally convinced himself Lorist was no illusion.

"Second Young Master! Oh, Young Master, I finally found you! Waaah..." The beggar scrambled over, heedless of the bowl of porridge he knocked over, and clung to Lorist's leg, weeping and sniffling.

"Uh..." Lorist tried to pull his leg free, but the man held on too tightly. "Get up first. Who are you?"

"Young Master, don't you recognize me? I'm Sertkamp!" The beggar raised a face streaked with tears and snot.

"Sertkamp?" Lorist searched his memory. From somewhere deep within it emerged a young servant with a guileless face, trailing after Little Locke and calling, "Young Master, wait for me..." Little Locke had ordered him about, demanding one thing and rejecting another, until the poor servant was running in circles.

No wonder he'd recognized him at once. Sertkamp had been Little Locke's personal servant since childhood.

"It is you, Sertkamp. It's been a long time—ten years, hasn't it? Get up now. Stop crying." Lorist smiled.

But his words only made Sertkamp cry harder. "Y-Young Master, please come home! The master is gone. The eldest young master is gone too, and so is the Third Young Master. You're the only one left in the Norton Family. Everyone's waiting for you to come back and inherit the territory... Waaah..."

Lorist swayed. Though he had come from another world, this body's blood ties to the Norton Family could not be severed. A tremor from deep within his soul shook him from head to toe.

El stepped forward to steady him, then said to Sertkamp, "Don't cry. Take your time and tell us clearly what happened."

"Last year, the master pursued a band of Mountain barbarian raiders who'd invaded the territory. They ambushed him, and he was badly wounded. He never got out of bed again. Early this year, when he couldn't hold on any longer, he told us to find the Second Young Master and bring him back to inherit the territory. Then he passed away. All we knew was that you'd gone to Molent City ten years ago. We didn't know which academy you'd attended, or whether you were even still here, but we had to try. It took us so much trouble to reach Molent City. We asked at academy after academy, but no one knew a Norton Lorist. Once they heard we were from the north, they barely gave us the time of day. Pat said heroes in the old stories always found information in taverns, so I went from tavern to tavern asking. Thank the heavens, I finally found you, Young Master." Remembering how hard the search had been, Sertkamp could not stop his tears.

Lorist managed to steady himself. "Sertkamp, tell me how my elder brother and younger brother died. Who is this Pat? The name sounds familiar. And my third uncle knew which academy I attended. Where is he?"

"The eldest young master died in battle three years ago. Duke Lugins had called him into his service under the Second Prince. When the news came, the master took to his bed, and the Third Young Master took charge of the territory. Then, the year before last, the Third Young Master's mount was startled by a magical beast while he was inspecting the territory. He fell and suffered a terrible head injury. They rushed him back and tried to save him for three days, but he died. The master grew even sicker. He only began to recover last spring, but when he heard about the Mountain barbarians, he insisted on marching out despite his illness. And then... Second Young Master, don't you remember Pat? He's the eldest grandson of Cress, the old steward. You played with him when you were little. He's quite something now—a Black Iron Swordsman. The old steward sent us because we knew you and remembered what you looked like."

Sertkamp hesitated. "Second Young Master, your third uncle, Lord Rodsick, died seven years ago. Bandits attacked the family caravan in Portoorg Province, and everyone in it was killed. The news shook the entire north. People have long said the First Prince sent men disguised as bandits to rob the caravan for military funds. That's why the eldest young master joined the Second Prince despite the master's objections."

One terrible piece of news after another. Lorist could scarcely believe it. The Norton Family, once hailed by the imperial house of the Krissen Empire as the Northern Rage Bear, had suffered calamity after calamity. Now they had fallen so far that they needed to recall a second young master exiled for ten years to inherit their territory. He had never imagined it would come to this.

Lorist collected himself. "Where's Pat now?"

Sertkamp looked embarrassed. "Pat... he's carrying sacks at the docks."

"Carrying sacks?"

"Yes. We ran out of travel money. Pat can earn enough for a day's food that way," Sertkamp murmured.

"Ready!" Lorist called toward the tavern.

Ready appeared a moment later.

"Get the carriage. Take Sertkamp to the docks to find his companion, then take them both to the public bathhouse. Get them some decent clothes and bring them back to see me." As Lorist gave the orders, he took two gold coins from his purse and handed them to Ready.

"No, Young Master, we have money. We can't spend yours." Sertkamp hurriedly stopped him, then dug around in his clothes and pulled out a grimy purse. "Young Master, I still have twenty Imperial gold coins."

"Huh? Didn't you just say you had no money?" Lorist asked.

"Young Master, this is for your journey home. We couldn't use it. Now that I can give it to you, I don't have to keep worrying about losing it." Sertkamp pressed the purse into Lorist's hand with a look of relief.

Lorist was moved. They had refused to touch those twenty gold coins, choosing instead to carry sacks and beg for food. Were these family retainers fools, hopelessly stubborn, or simply devoted to their duty?

Lorist handed Ready another two Gold Fudes. "Get them better clothes."

Ready drove Sertkamp off to find Pat.

Back at the tavern, Lorist sat at a table, too unsettled to rest. He opened the black purse and emptied it onto the tabletop. Twenty gleaming gold coins spilled out. Each was a little smaller than a Gold Fude and bore the portrait of a crowned old man.

Fatty Shi's interest stirred at the sight. He picked one up, examined it, and curled his lip. "Coins with the old emperor's head from the former Krissen Empire. They're not worth much. It takes three to exchange for one Gold Fude. The three kingdoms and seven duchies in the north all use our Gold Fudes now. Crooked merchants buy these old coins, melt them down, and mint Gold Fudes from the gold. They more than double their money. Where did you get them?"

"Locke's family sent people for him," El said. "They want him to go back and inherit the territory. Those coins are for his travel expenses."

"What? Locke, you're going back to become a lord?" His companions crowded around in astonishment.

"What's with all the fuss? I haven't decided whether I'm going back." Lorist frowned, troubled. He had lived in Molent City for ten years and had made something of a name for himself here. He had long since come to think of himself as a local. For his family to suddenly call him home to inherit the territory had caught him completely off guard. It might be his ancestral home, but to Lorist it was a place he scarcely knew.

"What is there to think about? Of course you should go back and inherit it. Here in Molent City, you're only an academy instructor. Back home, you'd be a respected landed lord. In your territory, you'd have the final say in everything." The speaker was Telman. He came from Jigor, a region known for producing mercenary knights, where a taste for war and adventure ran in the blood.

"But Locke has a good life here," Steve countered. "He's even bought a building. And he's our academy's dual Gold Instructor—everyone knows his name. What's waiting for him back there? The north is a sparsely populated wasteland. Just look at a geography book or a map. It's wilderness. How could it compare with life in Molent City?" Steve was a local and had always taken pride in it.

"Maybe Locke could go back, inherit the territory, then return," Yuri suggested. "He could leave its affairs to his subordinates and keep living in Molent City." To Yuri, it seemed the best of both worlds.

Lorist gave a wry smile. It was nowhere near that simple. His family's territory lay thousands of miles away in the northern wilderness. Even on a fast horse, the round trip from Molent City would take over three months. It was nothing like the lands of the nobles in the kingdoms and duchies near the Malichu Plains. They could live in Molent City and reach their territories in a few days.

"Where are the people your family sent?" Fatty Shi asked.

"Ready took one of them to find his companion," Lorist said. "They'd been searching Molent City separately."

"Searching for you? You're famous. Didn't your family know you studied and taught at Dawnlight Academy?" Fatty Shi asked in surprise.

"I've told you before that I lost contact with my family nearly seven years ago. The family caravan that knew I was at Dawnlight Academy was attacked by bandits. Everyone died, including the third uncle who brought me here. After that, my family only knew I was studying in Molent City, not which academy I attended. Then six years of war cut off communication. With everything that's happened to the family, they finally sent people to find me. But they didn't know I was Black Iron Locke. They asked at one academy after another, and no one knew Norton Lorist. Then they started asking at taverns. One of them met Alisha just now, and I only learned they were looking for me when she came to tell me," Lorist explained.

"That makes sense. No wonder they couldn't find you. The whole city knows Black Iron Locke, but I doubt ten people know your real name. What do you plan to do?" Fatty Shi asked.

"I don't know..." Lorist shook his head. "My mind's a mess right now. I can't decide anything. I'll ask them more when they get back."

When Ready returned with Sertkamp and Pat, both dressed in fresh clothes, Lorist was holding Alisha as they watched Old Luke from the barbershop behind the tavern cut Shiward's hair. "Uncle Locke," Alisha asked, "you said that beggar came to find you. Is he from your family?"

Lorist nodded. "Yes. And I should thank Alisha for giving him those two chicken legs. You're such a good girl."

Alisha furrowed her little brow and thought for a long while. Then her face lit up. "I know! Uncle Locke's family are beggars!"

Pfft! El sprayed a mouthful of wine all over Fatty Shi. Too busy clutching his stomach and laughing, he forgot to apologize. "Al-Alisha said it! That's too funny! Locke's family are b-beggars! Hahaha..."

Lorist did not know whether to laugh or cry. "Alisha, Uncle Locke's family aren't beggars. Look, he's standing right in front of you. Does he look like a beggar now?"

Standing before them, Sertkamp blushed scarlet. He wished the ground would open up and swallow him. Beside him, Pat cut a striking figure in a brand-new swordsman's outfit.

Lorist set Alisha down and walked over to Pat, comparing their heights. Then he sighed. "Pat, it's been a long time. We've both grown up. We're not those two little boys who used to charge at each other like bulls anymore."

Pat drew a deep breath. "No, Young Master. We're grown now."

Little Locke and Pat had been rivals from childhood. Whenever they met, they fought or wrestled, and one of them always went away crying—only for them to fight again the next day. Ten years had passed in the blink of an eye. Now that they had grown up, seeing each other again felt unexpectedly warm.

Lorist patted Pat's shoulder and smiled. "Look at you. You're even taller than I am now. What did you eat to grow so big? You've both had a hard journey. No more talk until you've had a good meal. I've already asked the kitchen to prepare one. Louise, you can bring the food out!"

Lorist called twice to Louise, then turned to Old Luke. "Old Luke, Ready's next after Shiward. When you're done with them, cut these two men's hair as well. That makes ten in all. I'll pay you two large silver coins."

"Gladly! I'll have them all looking sharp," Old Luke said with a grin.

Lorist stopped Sertkamp and Pat as they fidgeted. His tone left no room for argument. "This is my place. While you're here, you'll do as I say—not that you need reminding I'm your young master. Follow my arrangements. Once you've eaten, drunk, and got yourselves cleaned up, I'll take you home. We can talk properly there."