Chương 17: Deep Sleep

After commanding the skeletons back in, Jack went straight into his room and collapsed onto his chair. His cane dropped to the floor with a clatter. The high-backed wooden chair was near the dying embers of the hearth. His breathing was ragged, and a sharp throb was behind his eyes from the severed mental links. As he was in the quiet room, a sudden thought was in his mind. What the…? Did I just think of killing someone? He stared down at his shaking hands.

Down at the gates, he had ordered Bones to form a wall and repel the attackers. He hadn't commanded the skeletons to kill the bandits, because deep down, he didn't want to kill anyone. He was a modern man, a corporate worker, not a murderer.

"But again," Jack reasoned with himself, " those are definitely bad guys. The peaceful concepts and laws of my old world definitely won't apply here in this wasteland. But still…" His head was back against the chair. The headache was intense.

"And now that I think about it… from the very moment I transmigrated into this body, I haven't put much thought into my own mind or my old life at all. I have been doing things like I am following some sort of script. Securing coal, raising skeletons, building greenhouses. It was all so automatic." Before his mind could dive any deeper into that strange realization, the magical and physical exhaustion of the day was over him. A overwhelming darkness covered his vision.

He didn't even have the strength to crawl into his bed. He fell into a very deep, dreamless sleep right there in the wooden chair. Knock. Knock.

"Lord Jack?" The voice was outside the door. Jack slowly opened his eyes. The room was dim, but a fresh, crackling fire was in the stone hearth, casting a warm orange glow over the walls. His body was stiff from sleeping in the chair, but his mind felt remarkably clear. The agonizing headache was entirely gone.

"Come in, Karen," Jack said, his voice a bit raspy. The door opened. Karen was there, and a wooden tray was in her hands. A food bowl was on the tray. The steam from the bowl was thick in the air, and the rich, savory smell was instantly comforting.

"You are finally awake, My Lord," Karen said with a massive sigh of relief. She set the tray on his desk and brought the bowl over to him.

"I was so worried. I came in to check your fire and found you completely unresponsive. I didn't want to move you." Jack took the warm bowl. The heat of the bowl was pleasant against his cold fingers.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Nearly two full days, Lord Jack," Karen said, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

"It is the third day of the siege." Jack took a slow bite of the hot porridge. The taste of the porridge was incredible after weeks of thin turnip broth..

"How is the work?" Jack asked between bites.

"How are our people holding up?"

"The people are safe," Karen answered, a small smile on her face.

"The Great Hall was warm all night. Giles and the men have been taking shifts watching the tree line. The bandits are still out there, but their campfires were very small. The real problem is the weather."

"The weather?"

"A massive storm was over the valley while you slept," Karen explained, her smile fading into worry.

"The snow was relentless. It is three feet deep in the courtyard right now. The paths to the cellars are completely blocked. And the greenhouse…" Jack stopped eating.

"What about the greenhouse?"

"The heat inside is fine, and the little green shoots are still growing," Karen said quickly.

"But the snow was so heavy on the glass roof. Giles was worried that the glass might shatter under the weight of it if it isn't cleared soon. But the men cannot go out to shovel. The bandits have their scavenged crossbows pointed at the courtyard." The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Jack looked down at his bowl. He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully as the warmth of the food settled in his stomach.

"We must eliminate the bandits," Jack said quietly, his voice carrying a pragmatic certainty.

"Or at least their mages. We cannot let them sit outside our walls and hold us hostage all winter."

"But how, My Lord?" Karen whispered.

"They have dozens of men."

"I will figure it out," Jack said, handing her the empty bowl.

"For now, we need to protect our food supply. Tell Giles not to worry about the snow on the glass. The mages will handle it." Karen gave a knowing nod, taking the tray.

"I will let the men know, Lord Jack. Have a good evening." Once the door was shut, Jack walked over to the window. It was already night time. Down below, the courtyard was a disaster. The snow was like a thick white blanket. A massive pile of wet slush was over the roof of the greenhouse. The wooden frames were strong, but the antique glass was fragile. If it cracked, the freezing wind would rush in, and their entire winter crop would start dying in minutes. Jack hobbled over to the corner of his room.

He pulled the bear-skin rug aside and opened the trapdoor. He didn't need to go all the way down. He was on the edge of the opening, closed his eyes, and reached his mind into the dark depths of the crypt. He bypassed his three armored guards and reached for the dormant Night Shift. Snap. Rattle. Fifteen grey threads were anchored into Jack's chest all at once. The mental weight was heavy, like a thick woolen blanket over his brain, but after two days of deep rest, his core handled the strain beautifully.

"Awake," Jack commanded. Down in the crypts, the fifteen skeletons stepped down from their stone niches. Jack directed them toward the maintenance storage. They grabbed wide wooden snow shovels and long, bristled sweeping brooms. They did not use the main doors. Jack guided them through the lower cellar chute, the exact same way Rusty and Dusty had delivered the coal. The fifteen skeletons emerged into the freezing, pitch-black courtyard.

The wind was brutal, and the temperature was far below freezing, but the undead didn't care. They didn't shiver. They didn't suffer from frostbite. They were the ultimate winter workforce. Jack directed ten of them to the courtyard paths. They plunged their wooden shovels into the three snowdrifts. They scooped, lifted, and tossed the snow to the edges of the courtyard walls. The remaining five skeletons were sent to the greenhouse. This was delicate work.

Jack had to concentrate heavily, issuing precise micro-commands so the clumsy skeletons wouldn't smash the glass with their brooms.

"Sweep gently," Jack projected through the links.

"Do not press your weight onto the roof." The skeletons climbed onto the sturdy wooden support beams of the greenhouse. Using the long brooms, they swept the piles of snow off the glass panes. Because it was the dead of night and there were no lanterns lit, the starving bandits in the distant woods couldn't see a single thing happening behind the castle walls. It took two hours of non-stop, tireless labor.

By the time the job was finished, the paths were completely clear, and the fragile glass roof of the greenhouse was safe.

"Return to the crypts," Jack commanded. The skeletons vanished back down the cellar chute just as the first faint rays of morning light were over the jagged mountain peaks. A few hours later, the castle courtyard was alive with confused voices. Jack stepped out onto his stone balcony, wrapping his cloak tightly around himself. Down below, Giles and the village militia were standing on the cleared stone paths, their jaws hanging open. They looked at the outer walls. Massive piles of snow were against them.

They looked at the perfectly clean glass roof of the greenhouse.

"I don't understand," Old Miller said, scratching his beard in sheer bewilderment.

"The snow was up to our waists last night. Who shoveled all this? The gates were locked."

"Good morning," Jack called down from the balcony, his voice smooth and pleasant. The men looked up, quickly pulling off their wool caps in respect.

"Lord Jack," Giles said, gesturing helplessly at the cleared courtyard.

"The snow… it's gone. Did your mages do this in the dark?"

"No, you did," Jack lied flawlessly. The men blinked, looking at each other in total confusion.

"We did, My Lord?"

"Yes," Jack said, leaning on his cane.

"During the day yesterday, I saw you and the men doing some light sweeping and packing around the doors to keep the drafts out. It seems your preventative work was highly effective. Because the snow was packed properly at the base, the high winds overnight simply blew the rest of the loose snow away, piling it against the walls naturally." It was a completely absurd explanation. But to a group of exhausted and terrified peasants who didn't want to think about it. Did it even mattered who did it?.

"I… I suppose we did pack it pretty tight," Giles muttered, looking at his own hands as if they possessed magical snow-repelling properties.

"Your hard work saved the greenhouse," Jack praised them loudly.

"Make sure every man on the militia gets their daily porridge. You have earned your wage." A cheer was in the air from the militia. Now, Jack just had to figure out how to beat the bandits.