“I need you to get a member of the guard for me.”

“I thought you said you were ready to go? You spent a whole day packing things into that blasted trapdoor of yours. What else do you have to take care of?”

“His name is Jimothy.” Flip paused. “Go the barracks, request watchman Tim. Bring the boy here, then we may leave.”

“Oh, of course. Yes. Anyone else you want to talk to before you leave, sir? Perhaps the priestess? I see you and she are quite well acquainted?” Dovhran had taken on a deeply sarcastic tone, however it did not seem to register for Flip.

“I don’t understand what you mean by that. Get the Tim boy, I need him to do something for me.”

“Fine.” Dovhran let out something between a snarl and a groan before turning sharply on his heel and walking up the road to the town barracks.

Flip turned back to his tower and gave it a nod. The valuables had been placed in the basement, the basement hatch had been fused into the stone and covered with a heavy bookcase; Flip had no fear of intruders. His uncle Philmarten had been present one night many years ago when a thief had attempted to steal into the tower and procure some of the more valuable magical reagents used for spells; the thief had been reduced to ash. The town had not forgotten this. And while they did not call the death a murder, they still lamented the loss of the town butcher and this contributed to the eventual public revolt against his uncle. Flip had heard many stories about the perception of the tower. Most of them, he had come to discover, were true.

With a sense of imminent discomfort, Flip wandered through the small rooms he had spent the majority of his life in. It was a simple, silent, and solemn wandering.

“Faengil!” Dovhran shouted from the doorway, “I brought the guardsman… boy. Jimothy. I brought you a Jimothy.”

The mercenary’s voice was a shock from the serene fog of the wizard’s mind as he wandered. Flip quickly found his way to the front door of the tower where Dovhran stood, supporting an off balance Jimothy.

“You didn’t tell me he was half dead,” Dovhran frowned “had to practically carry him here. Now that I’m thinking about it, why couldn’t you just go to the barracks yourself?”

Flip glanced absently to the various bandaged wounds adorning the young guardsman. Then momentarily at the missing left leg and arm that necessitated the crutch held in the boys right hand.

“He makes the other guards uncomfortable.” Jimothy grimaced through his answer. “Captain Dink makes… made, me work with him when the guard needed his help.”

“Why am I not surprised…” Dovhran sighed. “Anyway, make it quick, the guard are going to switch patrols soon and they want me to get this one back quickly before he breaks even more.”

“Jimothy, come inside. Dovhran, help him inside.” Flip held the door open while Dovhran helped Jimothy through the door and onto one of the two chairs at the small kitchen table.

“I see you were there for the demon attack. I had hoped you were part of the guard that assisted in the evacuation, but of course you went to fight the blasted thing. Let me see the stumps.” Flip didn’t wait for permission before removing the bandages from the arm stump.

The wound was still mostly fresh and oozed various humors. Flip didn’t seem at all phased by the gore, while Dovhran immediately turned pale at the sight.

“Dovhran, go into my hatch and get me the drawer from the writing desk marked medical.” Dovhran eagerly made his way to the side of the tower where the hatch was set on the ground and disappeared into the magically displaced apartment space.

Dovhran returned moments later with a wooden drawer that was shut on the top by a sliding wooden panel. Jimothy had offered no resistance before then, but the sight of the drawer seemed to make him uncomfortable.

“Oh, no. Don’t.” Jimothy started to reach for the discarded bandages. “There are other guards that are hurt worse than me, they’ll say I’m getting special treatment.”

“You’re missing an arm and a leg, Jimothy. What would your father say if I didn’t at least stop the bleeding?” Flip raised a bushy eyebrow at the boy. The gesture seemed to settle Jimothy back into his chair.

Flip pulled the lid off the drawer and retrieved a paper charm from within and a small paper envelope. With a quick motion, Flip ripped open one end of the envelope and poured the powdered contents over the oozing stump of Jimothy’s arm. There was an immediate jolt at the substance touched the wound, but Jimothy managed to stay still enough for Flip to press the charm against the now dusted surface. The wound immediately began to dry and close completely.

“I don’t know any magic that can regrow limbs. You would need to see the forger or priestess for that, and they would charge you the cost of spell materials. Powerful healing magic is expensive. These charms are from the hearth temple, so you will need to eat there for a few nights and pay your respects.” Flip untied the pant leg that covered the bandages and stump of Jimothy’s leg as he spoke and repeated the process he had carried out on the arm stump. “But I expect a favor from you for this as well. You could have said no before I knew you were injured, but you have no options now.”

“I would have said yes anyway. You would have talked to my mother if I didn’t.” Jimothy shrank slightly at the admission.

“I’m going to leave town for a time and I need you to watch my tower.” Flip retrieved a sealed letter from inside his vest. “Give this to your acting captain and they will have you officially stationed here. Talk to priestess Devo about getting something for you to walk on when you eat there, I imagine she had already started making something for those that were injured in the attack. When I come back, if you’ve done well, I’ll see if I can’t do something to replace your arm.”

“Thank you.” Jimothy seemed overwhelmed by the situation being forced upon him, but he nodded eagerly at each piece of instruction.

“And above all, do not enter my tower. Should anyone enter my tower once I’ve left, they will be reduced to ashes and slime.”

Jimothy gave a slightly more nervous, but sincere, nod. Dovhran raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Now, back to the barracks with you.” Flip pulled Jimothy off the chair and moved him back into the care of Dovhran. “I need to complete my wards.”

Dovhran shrugged and help Jimothy limp out the door and back to the barracks without an argument. Flip resealed the drawer and climbed back down into the travelling hatch to replace it in the desk. The wizard did a quick assessment of everything in the flat to be sure nothing had been stolen, which seemed to be the case. With the flat fully packed, Flip closed the hatch and released the magic so it could be lifted into it’s carrying case. Before leaving, Flip wedged the butt of a walking stick into a wide crack roughly in the middle of the first floor room of the tower and made a few random chalk marks along the flagstones around the arcane looking stick.

Most of the townsfolk would fail to understand any sort of magic should they see it, so a very visible warning served to deter anyone looking through a window or open doorway. On the front stoop, the wizard pressed his thumb on the small sigil to the side of the door frame and muttered the arcane word that activated the dormant spell. It wouldn’t reduce anyone to ashes, but it would prevent anyone from entering through the door by anything other than magical means.

Flip contemplated sitting one last time on the stoop to write, but he could already see Dovhran returning from the barracks. The mercenary was already beyond the point of frustration at the time it had taken to prepare to leave.

“That kid, is he your bastard or something?” Dovhran’s voice was cautious as he leveled his question.

“No. He is a Tim, through and through. Tims and Finnegans balance each other out, or they used to. But both our families are mostly dead now.”

“That’s sad to hear. I suppose the Tims were one of the big families in the old ward?”

“One of them.”

Dovhran seemed genuinely put off by the sour subject of conversation and hefted his own pack of belongings from the stoop.

“We should get the wagon going, it’s a long way from here to Norwen. I don’t see us hitting another town tonight either.” Dovhran tossed his pack into the back of the horse drawn cart he’d purchased in town and pulled himself on to the driving bench. “I don’t suppose you want to be up front with me, do you.”

“No.” Flip grunted as he hefted himself into the bed of the wagon and laid down. “I would much rather not sit by you in case someone recognizes you and lets loose an arrow.”

The mercenary let out a sigh that was hinting at something like a laugh and gave the horses reins a crack.