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“You are welcome to go to bed.”
“And what about you? Have you slept lately?”
Fergus looked at Simon, surprised. “I had not thought you had noticed.”
“Do you have the dreams, still?”
“They never truly went away,” he explained sadly. “I suppose they have faded, over time. I used to wake up shouting in fear, but now, I just find myself waking up in a start, soaked with a cold sweat. I lay awake dreading to fall asleep, knowing that as soon as I do, I shall only be woken again.”
Simon reached over and put a hand on Fergus’ shoulder. “You are still fighting a war in your head, Your Grace. Face the enemy inside, not the one you think lives outside these walls. If you spend your days here, refusing to speak to anyone, you will never be able to overcome that which haunts you.”
A movement outside the window caught Fergus’ eye, distracting him from Simon’s advice. The library sat on the front of the house, overlooking the gardens that lined the front drive and road beyond. The manor had never needed walls or gates for security. On the outer reaches of the city, they did not often have people passing by, especially during the middle of the night.
A lone man turned off the main road up the drive, his features obscured in the darkness. With a slow pace, he appeared to be on a leisurely stroll. Fergus’ back stiffened, watching the shadow come closer to the house, wandering the gardens.
“Who is that?” Fergus breathed. Simon followed where Fergus was looking.
The man came closer, such that the light from the manor illuminated some of his features. His gray hair reflected the light. His clothing looked nice, moderately well kept, and he wore a spectacle in his eye as he bent over the peonies on Fergus’ mother’s grave. Fergus’ heart leaped in his chest when the old man bent over and cut a bloom off one of the peony bushes then reached for another.
“I will kill him,” Fergus growled, turning for the door.
Simon tried to grab him. “Your Grace, let us be calm. I am sure we can talk with him –”
Fergus shook him off easily, bolting for the door. Simon rushed after him, calling out to him, but Fergus did not hear. Rushing down the stairs, his fury roared in his ears. How dare anyone come into his garden, let alone start touching his flowers, especially those flowers? The audacity enraged him. He stormed down the halls, flew down the stairs, and slammed through the front door.
“Who do you think you are?” he roared, rushing out into the garden. In the time that Fergus had rushed down the stairs, the old man had cut another two blooms. He held the flowers gently in one hand, the small knife he used in his other hand.
“Wha – I –” the old man stuttered, reeling in fear as Fergus approached him. He held up his arm as though to protect himself from blows.
“You are trespassing on my property!” Fergus shouted, wrenching the flowers from the old man’s hands. Petals scattered to the ground from the fragile blooms. “Stealing from me! Who do you think you are?!”
“I meant no harm!” the old man cried, cowering in fear. Closer to him, Fergus could tell that the old man appeared to be a member of society, dressed in fine clothes, even though he had a wine stain down the front of his shirt.
“Are you drunk? Mad? What makes you think you can come onto another man’s property without invitation and steal from him?”
“I can pay… I can pay for the flowers,” he stuttered. “I thought it was a public garden.”
“A public garden?” Fergus cried. He heard Simon hurry out of the front door of the manor behind him and felt Simon’s hands on his shoulders, trying to pull him away from the man. The old man nearly cowered in fear, and a twisted part of Fergus wanted to rip his mask off to scare him further.
“A public garden behind a fence? And you thought you could just take whatever you wanted?” Fergus continued to shout. His fists shook with anger, clutching the peonies in one hand, the other ready to strike.
“I just wanted to bring them home to my daughter!” the old man whimpered.
“Your Grace,” Simon warned, trying to pull Fergus back. “I am sure there is an explanation. Please.”
“I will pay you back, Your Grace,” the old man offered, flinching as Fergus tried to pull away from Simon. “I am so sorry, I did not know this was your house, Your Grace.”
“Your ignorance will be your downfall,” Fergus hissed through clenched teeth. “Simon, detain this man.”
“Detain him?” Simon asked, incredulous. “Detain him for what purpose?”
“Send a messenger to the constable that a man has stolen from me.”
“Stolen?” the old man cried. “I just cut some peonies, Your Grace. I apologize! I did not know!”
“Does this not seem a bit severe?” Simon protested quickly. “Your Grace, do you know what the sentence for theft is?”
“He should have thought of the consequences!” Fergus said, turning his heel and pushing past Simon. “Detain him!”
