Chương 5: Clumsy Trio

The air in the subterranean vault was perfectly still, but to Jack, it felt as though a gentle, icy current was constantly washing over his skin. He stood near the stone guard niches, leaning heavily on his brass-headed cane. A few feet away, Rusty stood in the dim light of the single tallow candle. The skeleton's bony fingers were wrapped tightly around the wooden base of the candle holder. It held the light perfectly level, its skull tilted slightly to the side as if waiting for the next order.

Jack took a slow, deep breath. His lungs felt remarkably clear down here. The cold, dark mana of the crypts acted like a soothing balm on his scarred tissue. But as he looked at Rusty, he knew one worker wouldn't be enough. To clear the collapsed mine shaft, haul heavy sacks of coal up the steep castle stairs, and secretly deliver fuel to the village, he needed a crew. A single skeleton could barely carry a heavy load, let alone run a covert mining operation.

"Two more," Jack muttered to himself.

"I need at least two more to start." He hobbled slowly along the stone shelves, his cane tapping rhythmically. Rusty followed behind, his bare, ivory feet scraping against the dusty stone, the candlelight swaying gently with each step. Jack stopped in front of a second niche. The wooden box that had once rested here had completely disintegrated, leaving a neat, undisturbed pile of bones. Jack looked closely at the skull.

A massive, jagged crack ran from the left temple down to the jawline—likely the result of a heavy mace or warhammer blow in some forgotten border skirmish.

"You'll do," Jack said. He reached out, letting the cold grey mana pool in his fingertips once more. He guided the misty, pale-blue vapor toward the shattered skull. The moment the magic touched the bone, Jack felt that familiar, sharp tug on his soul. A second invisible, grey thread snapped into place, anchoring itself deep within his chest. Clack. Rattle. The bones began to slide across the stone shelf, clicking together like a complicated puzzle.

Ribs aligned, vertebrae stacked, and the limbs snapped into their sockets. Within moments, the second skeleton stood upright. Because of the old head wound, its skull sat at a slightly permanent, crooked tilt.

"Your head is covered in stone dust," Jack said, observing the ancient crack.

"I'll call you Dusty." The skeleton gave a sudden, jerky nod. Its jaw clicked twice. Jack felt the drain in his chest instantly double. It wasn't painful, but it felt as though a small weight had been placed on his shoulders. The passive flow of his mana was being tapped by two separate straws now. He could handle it, but he could already feel a faint, dull throb beginning behind his temples.

"One more," Jack whispered, gritting his teeth.

"Just one more." He moved to the next niche. This skeleton was notably different. The femur bones were exceptionally long, and the ribcage was wide. Even in death, this soldier had been a giant of a man, easily standing a full head taller than Rusty and Dusty. Jack didn't waste any time. He pushed the third thread of grey mana from his core, directing it into the bones. The reaction was immediate, but this time, it felt much heavier.

The grey thread hooked into his soul with a violent, jarring yank that made Jack's vision blur for a fraction of a second. His knees trembled, and he had to lean his entire forearm against the stone wall to keep from falling. Rattle! Clatter! The giant skeleton assembled itself with a series of loud, sharp snaps. It stood nearly six feet four inches tall, its long, lanky arms hanging down past its pelvis. It looked incredibly intimidating, a towering frame of clean, white bones.

"Bones," Jack gasped, panting slightly as he stared up at the giant.

"Your name is Bones." The tall skeleton stood perfectly silent, its dark eye sockets staring down at him. Jack leaned against the wall, trying to steady his breathing. His head was buzzing. Having three active skeletons connected to his mind felt like trying to carry three open, brim-full cups of water while walking a tightrope. Every movement, every shift in his focus, threatened to spill the mana.

His nose began to tickle—a warm, familiar itch that warned him of an impending nosebleed if he pushed his core any further.

"This is my limit," Jack realized, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. It came away clean, but only barely.

"Three is the absolute maximum for now." He looked at his little crew. Rusty, the average-sized leader with the rust-stained hand. Dusty, the crooked-necked one with the cracked skull. And Bones, the towering giant.

"We are going up," Jack commanded mentally, sending the thought through the three grey threads.

"Quietly. Follow me." The climb back up the steep stairs was a slow process. Jack had to fight his own physical weakness while constantly maintaining the mental threads. Every time Rusty took a step, Jack felt a tiny twitch in his mind. Every time Dusty's foot scraped the stone, Jack's head throbbed. By the time they reached his bedchamber, Jack was covered in a cold sweat. He stepped through the open trapdoor, and the three skeletons scrambled up behind him, their bones clattering softly in the quiet room.

Jack immediately turned and seized the iron ring of the stone slab. With a grunt of exertion, he dragged the door shut, sealing the freezing draft of the crypts away. The silver runes on the border clicked, their pale blue glow fading back into dull, lifeless grey. Jack collapsed into his high-backed wooden chair, his chest heaving. The three skeletons stood in a neat, silent semi-circle in front of his bed, staring at him. This story has been stolen from Royal Road.

If you read it on Amazon, please report it"Alright," Jack muttered, rubbing his throbbing temples.

"Before we go any further, I need to know how much control I actually have over you three." He decided to test their basic intelligence. He pointed toward the sealed trapdoor in the corner of his room.

"Dusty," Jack commanded mentally, focusing entirely on the thread connected to the crooked-necked skeleton.

"Go watch the trapdoor. Do not let anyone touch it." Dusty's head jerked. He turned, marched over to the corner of the room with stiff, rapid strides, and stopped directly over the stone slab. Then, Dusty did something entirely unexpected. He dropped to his knees, pressed his bare skeletal face directly against the wooden floorboards, and stared at the seam of the trapdoor from an inch away, completely frozen. Jack blinked.

"Dusty. Stand up." Dusty scrambled to his feet, standing perfectly rigid. Jack sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I need to be more precise. Skeletons have no common sense." He stood up, leaning on his cane, and walked toward the trapdoor to see if Dusty would follow the instruction. The moment Jack's foot stepped within a foot of the stone slab, Dusty's right arm shot out with terrifying speed, his bony fingers locking onto Jack's shoulder with the grip of an iron vice. Jack froze. Dusty didn't hurt him, but the skeletal grip was completely unyielding. The empty eye sockets stared blankly into Jack's face.

"Dusty," Jack said slowly in his mind.

"Let go of me. I am your master." Dusty's arm immediately dropped back to his side.

"Okay," Jack muttered, taking a step back.

"Your commands are incredibly literal. If I tell you to let no one touch it, you include me in that list. I have to specify." He focused his mind again, projecting a clearer, more detailed thought.

"Dusty. Guard the trapdoor. Do not let anyone except me touch it or come near it. If anyone else tries, stop them. But do not hurt Karen." Dusty gave a crooked nod. He stood over the trapdoor, his arms hanging loose, but his posture was alert. Suddenly, the faint, unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor. Jack's heart plummeted.

"My Lord!" Karen's voice called out through the wooden door.

"My Lord, I found some dry pine under the old stable stairs! I'm bringing it up!" Panic flooded Jack's chest. Skeletons were forbidden, heretical magic. If Karen walked in and saw three fully animated skeletons standing in his bedroom, she would either die of fright or scream loud enough to bring Giles and the entire village running with torches.

"Hide!" Jack hissed mentally, his thoughts fracturing into a chaotic mess.

"Under the bed! All of you, under the bed, right now!" The response was immediate and disastrously clumsy. Rusty, who was still holding the candle holder, turned around too fast. His bony elbow clipped the edge of the washstand, sending a wooden cup rattling across the floorboards. Bones, being incredibly tall, tried to dive under the bed first. But his long leg bones got tangled in the hanging wool dust ruffles.

He collapsed in a heap, his ribs hitting the stone floor with a loud thump that sounded like a falling sack of flour. Dusty tried to help, but in his haste, his crooked neck clipped the side of the wooden bedpost, causing the entire canopy bed to shake violently.

"Hurry!" Jack panicked, his head spinning from the sudden surge of mental commands. The skeletons scrambled, kicking and crawling over one another like a pile of dry firewood. Rusty shoved his skull under the frame, followed by Dusty, who was trying to drag his rusted sword along with him. Bones was simply too long; his lower shins and massive, bony feet remained sticking out completely from beneath the wool blankets.

Jack rushed forward, using the tip of his cane to frantically hook the edge of the blanket, dragging the fabric down to cover Bones' feet just as the iron bolt of his bedroom door began to slide open. Clack. The door swung open. Karen stepped into the room, panting heavily. Her face was smudged with black soot, and she was carrying a small, precious bundle of dry, resinous pine splinters. She looked exhausted, her small shoulders shivering under her mismatched shawls.

"I… I got it, My Lord," she gasped, walking toward the cold hearth.

"It's dry. It will light. We'll have a real fire in no time." Before Jack could speak, a metallic sound echoed from beneath the bed. CLINK. The sword Dusty was holding had slipped from his grip, hitting the stone floorboards. Karen froze. Her ears perked up, her eyes immediately darting toward the bed.

"What was that? Did something fall?" Jack's back turned entirely cold. He didn't dare look down. He knew exactly what was happening under his mattress—three ancient guardsmen were currently crammed together like packed sardines, probably tangled in each other's ribs.

"It was… my leg, Karen," Jack said quickly, forcing his voice to remain flat and calm. He reached down, grabbing his left thigh and rubbing it with a grimace.

"A sudden muscle spasm. My knee buckled and kicked the iron frame of the bed." Karen's suspicious look immediately melted into deep, overwhelming worry. She set her bundle of wood down on the hearth and rushed to his side.

"Oh, My Lord! Is it the frost-pain again?" She reached out, her hands hovering anxiously over his knee.

"I told you, you shouldn't have walked down to that freezing hall. Your joints are turning to ice. Let me help you into bed."

"No!" Jack said, perhaps a bit too quickly. Karen blinked, startled by his tone.

"I mean… I should sit in the chair," Jack corrected himself, softening his voice.

"If I lie down now, my chest will only tighten up again. The upright position helps me breathe. Really."

"But your legs are trembling," Karen said tearfully. She looked down, her eyes scanning the floor around the bed.

"And… what is that smell? It smells like…" Jack held his breath. The scent of the crypts had clung to the skeletons, and with three of them stuffed under his bed, the room was slowly starting to smell like an open tomb.

"It's the medicine," Jack lied smoothly, pointing to the small jar of Old Martha's herbal muck sitting on the headboard.

"The sulfur and the pine. It's very strong. It seems to drift when the room gets cold."

"Oh." Karen looked at the jar, her nose wrinkling slightly.

"It really does smell awful. But if it keeps you alive, I'll boil a hundred jars of it." She walked back to the hearth, kneeling in front of the gray ashes. She carefully arranged her precious dry pine splinters, striking a spark with a small piece of flint. Within minutes, a small, bright orange flame began to lick the wood. The sweet, clean scent of burning pine sap began to rise, slowly fighting back the cold, musty odor of the crypts. Jack watched the fire, feeling the first faint wave of heat reach his face.

But his mind was entirely focused on the space beneath his chair. He could feel the three distinct mental threads hum in his chest. They were resting, completely motionless, waiting for his next thought.

"I will leave you to rest now, Lord Jack," Karen said, standing up and wiping her soot-stained hands on her apron.

"The fire is small, but it will keep the chill away for a few hours. I will go split some more of the wet wood. If I leave it near the hearth, it might dry out enough to burn by tomorrow."

"Thank you, Karen," Jack said, his voice genuinely warm.

"You are doing an incredible job. But please, don't overexert yourself. I need you healthy too." Karen's face flushed bright red—this time not from the cold. She gave a quick, embarrassed bow, picked up her empty wooden basket, and scurried out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her. The moment the iron lock clicked shut, Jack let out a shuddering breath. He leaned forward, looking down at the edge of his bed.

"Alright," Jack said mentally.

"Out. Carefully." A giant, white hand with exceptionally long fingers reached out from beneath the wool blanket, gripping the carpet. Bones crawled out first, his massive frame sliding smoothly across the stone. Dusty followed, his crooked neck tilting as he looked up at Jack. Rusty came out last, still carefully holding the tallow candle in his right hand, the flame miraculously still lit. The three skeletons stood in a line, staring at their master.

Jack looked at them, then at the small, crackling fire in his hearth, and finally toward the window where the storm was still howling.