It was now six weeks since my last adventure. If you’re new to my stories, that one involved a plot by the younger of the two royal princes, Wim, to usurp his older brother, Albert, in the royal succession. Wim’s plan was designed to ensnare me and make me the scapegoat. However, with a bit of help from friends and a great amount of luck, I was able to ruin Wim’s plot. In revenge, he kidnapped my girlfriend to lure me outside of the city. We fought. I won. He died.

Two days after, I met with the king. Since I was able to leave the meeting with my head still attached to my shoulders, I count it as a win. After that, I returned to my normal life, such as it is. 

This particular evening, six weeks later, I returned to my rooms in an exceptionally jovial mood. Driven by a wind from the north, the first snow of the season was falling. The first appearance of snow always made me happy. In another eight weeks, I would be tired of the stuff. Another reason for my buoyant good feeling was I’d been out to dinner with friends: Freddy, his cousin Lucy and Freddy’s somewhat intended, Greta Hawkins.

The meal was passable, but the conversation was sparkling. All four of us enjoy healthy senses of humor. Fueled by some delicious cider, our evening’s dialogue was ribald and risqué. Greta possessed a dry, clever wit. Freddy was often her accomplice, responding to her quips in a droll way.  Lucy was the most direct. I tended to react to the others’ remarks, similar to a riposte in fencing. At times we were laughing so hard we attracted unkind looks from the other patrons of the inn. We didn’t care.

Shortly before the encounter with Wim, Lucy’s father granted me permission to court her. Lucy’s father is the Duke of Gulick. That makes her a ‘Lady.’ Her official title is Lady Darling, after one of her father’s minor holdings. She thinks ‘Lady Darling’ is a bit twee. So, naturally, her cousin Freddy and I tease her about it. Freddy is actually Lord Rawlinsford. He will inherit his father’s duchy and become Duke of Manton when his father dies. 

That’s why it’s unusual that her father granted me permission to court her. I’m a bastard, you see. Not in the one sense of the word—I like to think I’m a decent enough fellow. No, I’m talking about the other meaning. My mother was a housemaid, and my father is the Earl of the Eastern March.  My name is Casimir FitzDuncan. In Aquileia, my country, starting your surname with ‘Fitz’ means ‘bastard son of.’ My father married when I was three, and my mother was sent away. When my stepmother gave birth to my first stepbrother, I, too, was sent away—to boarding school. 

The school I attended was filled with the male children of the nobility and sons of the wealthy merchant class. I was something ‘other.’ I was not permitted to come home during school breaks. Instead, I stayed at school, the only student left behind. Only three of my schoolmates ever possessed the strength of character to invite me to come home with them. Freddy was one.

The one and only time I was allowed to come home was for my grandfather’s funeral. Even then, I stayed at an inn in town. I was not allowed in the house. My grandfather was a far more significant influence in my life than my father. When he died, grandfather left me a small annuity of one hundred ducats a year and a sword. The sword is more valuable. I could live on a hundred ducats a year if I lived quietly and frugally in the country, though. I preferred to live less frugally and dwell in my country’s biggest city.

After school, I spent seven years in the Rangers, the soldiers who protect our western border from our neighbors, the Rhetians. The Rangers are unlike regular soldiers. Regular soldiers wear armor, carry pikes and fight in organized formations. Our western border is mountainous and covered with forests. So, instead, the Rangers are unarmored, skilled with sword and bow, trained to fight on horseback or foot, and travel in smaller groups. We were used to being on our own for days and weeks, scouring the area, making sure the Rhetians weren’t going to invade. Of course, the Rhetians were doing the same thing, so we encountered them often. Skirmishes between small groups were frequent. 

I did well in the Rangers and earned a promotion to captain reasonably quickly. When the reality sunk in that my next promotion depended on having a substantial sum of money or influential political connections, I decided to leave the service and make my way in the world. I had neither the money nor the connections to advance.

I went to the capital, also named Aquileia. It’s the biggest city and busiest port, located on the southern coast. While I was trying to figure out what career to pursue, Freddy, my friend from school days, approached me to help him. He’d lost a family ring when cheated in a card game and needed to get it back. I helped him.  Since the ring was collateral for a bet of ten thousand ducats, he rewarded me with half that. He referred someone else to me. I helped that person retrieve some love letters he’d written to a woman who was not his wife. The blackmailer demanded five thousand ducats. My ‘client’ paid me twenty-five hundred when I got them back. In the few years since then, I’d helped over a dozen people recover items of value. My fee was always the same: half the value of the item I recovered. That also bought my silence.

It’s certainly not an ordinary job. For one thing, I don’t work that much. I used some of the proceeds from my first few ventures and bought the bookseller business from which I was renting the upstairs rooms. One of my early clients managed money for rich people, investing it in various things. As a favor, he took me on as a client, even though my wealth was far below his other customers. My goal was to reach a point where I could live on the income from my investments. I’d been doing this for six years now and accumulated just under half of the amount I needed.

Anyway, for someone of illegitimate birth and a very strange job to be allowed to court the daughter of a Duke—that’s extraordinary. Indeed, the state of our courtship was further advanced from what he’d thought he approved. Lucy and I often spent the night together in her rooms above the shop she owned. As satisfying as the physical aspect of our relationship was, the emotional quality of it was even more fulfilling. Being near Lucy filled me with positive energy. She said she felt the same and tried to explain it was because our auras were sympathetic. According to her, they meshed in such a way that they produced that strong sense of good feeling.

Whether you believe it doesn’t matter to me. Lucy demonstrated to me that she possessed some ability of a supernatural kind. I accepted it. If she lived in the country, the locals would have considered her a hedge witch. Since she lived in the biggest city in the kingdom, where people didn’t want to admit they still believed in magic, she was an herbalist. Her shop was quite successful, though.

Her father’s duchy, Gulick, was neither a wealthy nor poor province. Lucy’s father, however, was an example of the best sort of nobleman. He managed his holdings for the benefit of his tenants, not himself. He kept rents reasonable and was not interested in amassing wealth, unlike many others in his position. Lucy was the third daughter, so she wasn’t needed for any sort of marriage alliances. That she ran a shop scandalized some in her family, who felt engaging in ‘trade’ was undignified.   

Lucy was tall, at nearly six feet, and slender, though broad-shouldered. I was three inches taller. She had the palest blue eyes I ever saw, with a spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her golden hair usually fell in untamed small waves to her shoulder blades. I think she is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

She usually dresses for comfort, with her hair wild and free. I went with her to the Queen’s Cup six weeks before and saw what she looked like when she dressed like others of her class. It didn’t make her more beautiful—nothing could—but she definitely shone as one of the brightest jewels in that setting.

I’ve been worried that what I feel for her is infatuation. No other woman in my life (not that there were many) produced such deep and sustained feelings in me. I’d seen people fall victim to infatuation, and it always turned out poorly when those strong feelings faded.

I’d made it thus far in my life somewhat alone. Having someone who wanted emotional closeness was new and, to be honest, more than slightly scary. Fortunately, Lucy was perceptive of my moods. After dinner this evening, it was she who shooed me to my own residence.

We’d known one another for two months now. My feelings for her grew stronger and deeper every day in small increments. I guess I was afraid that it was too good to be true, and I was waiting for something terrible to happen. I was already beginning to think of the rest of my life with her, though I chastised myself for doing so. 

Lucy held no such misgivings. She had steady confidence in us, though she wouldn’t (or couldn’t) share why. She explained to me earlier that she possessed a limited ability to see the future. According to her, she needed to touch the person, and the aura needed to be sympathetic to hers. She explained that she could see what she called “hinge points.” Depending on what happened at a hinge point, the future she saw might not come true. Anyway, I think it helped her be patient with me. Once some more time passed, with no adverse developments, I would discuss with her the idea of asking her father for her hand.

Enough of that folderol. You’re not reading this to learn how inexperienced I am in affairs of the heart or how lovely Lucy is.   You want a tale with action, adventure and danger. As I was saying, I returned to my rooms. I did not stay there the previous two nights. The following day, when I came downstairs to head out, I saw a letter was shoved under the door. I had stepped on it with my snowy boots the night before, not noticing it.

Mr. FitzDuncan—

A mutual acquaintance suggested I contact you regarding a difficult situation. Would you please call on me at my residence? I am home most mornings. I shall appreciate your consideration.

Sincerely,

Lord Tulley

The note was dated two days before. Since I had not been to my rooms, I didn’t see it. I knew the sender, though not where he lived. Lord Tulley was not one of my favorite people. He was one of the sycophants and toadies who surrounded Albert, the Crown Prince. I suppose I should say, used to surround him. Albert had been keeping very much to himself the last six weeks. 

Tulley and his ilk used to pretend I didn’t exist because of my illegitimate birth. Six weeks ago, Albert addressed me directly by name for the first time ever—despite having been my commanding officer for three years in the Rangers. My immediate thought was Tulley must be in a terrible bind to reach out to me. Reflecting more deeply, I considered that Tulley was certainly not the worst of that bunch—more of an occasional member of the group and not a regular presence. I had nothing pressing, both a benefit and a consequence of how I earned a living, so I decided to call upon him. 

The snow of the night before was already melting when I went out. By midday, it would be forgotten. My friend Freddy would know where Lord Tulley’s residence was. It was early enough I might arrive at Freddy’s in time to mooch breakfast. But, of course, I would have to inspect it before eating it. Freddy’s manservant, Theo, disapproved of everyone Freddy knew—except Greta. She had Theo completely cowed. I reminded myself again to ask her how she did it.

My rooms are located on a small market square on the edge of one of the nicer parts of the city. I am reasonably close to the center of the city, the castle inhabited by the royal family. Freddy’s house was in the middle of a tidy (and wealthy) residential neighborhood.

I arrived at Freddy’s and knocked. Theo answered the door. He greeted me with silence and an impassive stare.

“Good morning, Theo,” I said loudly and cheerfully, hoping to be overheard. “Is Lord Rawlinsford in?”

“Yes,” he muttered.

“Is he awake?”

“I believe so.”

“May I speak to him?”

“I’ll see,” he grumbled.

Theo did not move.

“Would you please go see if I may speak to him now?” I asked.

“I’m waiting,” he answered.

“What are you waiting for?” I asked.

“I’m waiting for you to leave,” he replied.

“If I leave, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of our witty little exchange here, Theo?”

Theo’s response was a silent shrug. 

“Theo, close the door. You’re letting the cold in,” I heard Greta say.

She appeared from upstairs, wearing one of Freddy’s dressing gowns. It covered her from neck to toes, actually dragging on the floor because she is so petite.

“Oh! Hi, Caz,” she greeted me as Theo closed the door in my face.

Through the closed door, I heard, “Theo! What did you do that for?”

“You said to close the door, miss.”

“But you closed it right in his face!”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Theo, open the door this instant and invite our friend in,” she demanded.

“But you said to close the door, miss. I don’t want to let the cold in.”

“Theo, you’re making me unhappy,” she said. “Is that your intention?”

“No, miss.”

“Theo. You will open the door. You will invite Mr. FitzDuncan inside. You will close the door. You will graciously offer to take Mr. FitzDuncan’s jacket and sword, and you will hang them neatly here in the hall. You will then invite him to join us for the breakfast you’re about to cook. If I find that you prepared any unpleasant surprises in our breakfast, I shall be quite cross with you.”

The door opened. Theo had a sickly smile on his face. “Won’t you please come in, Mr. FitzDuncan? May I take your jacket? Your sword? Thank you. Won’t you please join Lord Rawlinsford and Miss Hawkins for breakfast?”

“Why, thank you, Theo,” I responded. “What a kind offer! I think I shall.”

I approached Greta. She offered her cheek for me to kiss, which I did. Then, I followed her into the dining room. As I did, I heard my jacket fall and my sword clatter to the floor outside. I tried, unsuccessfully, to choke back my laughter. It still escaped as a snort.

Greta slipped past me like a lightning bolt and intercepted Theo in the hall, with her hands on her hips. “Theo! Did you defy me?” she growled in a low voice that sounded otherworldly, coming from someone so petite.

“No, miss. It slipped, miss. I’m hanging them up right now,” he said. 

Theo sounded genuinely contrite—almost frightened. She remained in the hall, glaring at him. He slunk past her to the kitchen. Greta returned and went to her seat. I held her chair for her. Freddy breezed in as I was walking around the table. He, too, was wearing a dressing gown.

“Hullo, Caz! Good morning!” he said cheerily. He went around the table and gave Greta a brief peck on the lips. 

“I heard you speaking with Theo,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

“Not anymore,” she replied, primly.

“Oh, ho!” he exclaimed, smiling. “Theo was acting up because of Caz?”

Greta nodded. Freddy chuckled. I was puzzled.

“Greta, how do you have him so intimidated?” I asked quietly, not wanting Theo to overhear. “When you chastised him, he seemed almost scared of you. I needed to threaten him with physical harm just to get a few days respite.”

“The same,” she responded calmly.

I looked at her. Gauging her size against Theo’s, that didn’t make sense. I started to chuckle.

“I’m serious,” she said. “I’ve threatened to spank him.”

My mouth dropped open.

“Apparently, Theo’s mother was of similar size and coloring to Greta,” Freddy explained. “That’s what my father says. According to him, Theo’s mother had a ferocious temper. He equates Greta to his mother. If she says ‘frog,’ he hops.”

I shook my head slowly.

“What brings you by, Caz?” Freddy asked. “Didn’t get enough of our company last night?”

“I can never get enough of your company—especially Greta’s,” I replied. “But it’s not that, despite how fun last night was. Neither am I coming to spy on you, though I am reassured to learn that Lucy and I are not the only ones violating the standards of a formal courtship. I stopped by to ask where Lord Tulley lives.”

“Tulley?” Freddy said with distaste. “What do you want with him?”

“He left a note at my place asking me to call on him. I have no idea what he wants.”

“Huh,” Freddy grunted. “He lives around the corner. Gray house. Red door. Right out the front door, right on the corner, left at the next corner, then it will be on the right.”

I could tell Freddy was intrigued. He enjoyed being involved in my most recent mess. He expressed an interest in helping me with future matters. I was glad he didn’t say anything more in front of Greta. One of the things I pride myself on is discretion. I was certain Greta could keep secrets but didn’t feel like sharing with her yet.

“So, you think Freddy and I are acting in an immoral manner?” Greta commented, picking up my quip from a moment before. “I’ll have you know I slept in the guest room last night,” she claimed self-righteously.

“Then I shan’t ask where Freddy slept,” I cracked. “I take it negotiations are moving forward?”

Freddy blushed. “Negotiations are complete,” he stated. “Permission has been granted. The formal betrothal will be on the Winter Solstice. Our families are planning a big party. You’ll be invited.”

“An auspicious day. Congratulations, Freddy! Best wishes, Greta!” I responded.

In our calendar, the Winter Solstice had particular importance. Once the moment of the solstice passed, the length of days increased until Summer Solstice. Thus, many things were timed for the Winter Solstice since the increasing daylight was a powerful good omen. For a similar reason, the best time of day to get married was half-past six in the evening, since both hands on the clock would be moving upward. What can I say? We Aquileians are a superstitious bunch.

“Now we just have to open your eyes,” Greta said. “Until you see what everyone else does.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Caz, I know you’re not blind,” she said. “I don’t think you’re stupid, either. Though I’m beginning to wonder, the more time passes. I’ve never seen a couple so much in love, or so well-matched, as you and Lucy.”

Suddenly on the defensive, I stammered. “I, uh, well, I—it’s only been two months since we met.”

“Caz, dear,” she replied gently. “What are you worried about? Haven’t you ever been in love before?”

“Actually, no, not like this, I haven’t,” I answered.

“Oh, my,” she commented. “This must be pretty frightening for you, then.”

“I’m worried that it’s only an infatuation and will burn itself out,” I mumbled.

“Good point,” Freddy conceded. “You’re wrong, but it’s a good point.”

“How am I wrong?” I asked.

“Because underneath the intensity of the feelings you share for each other—feelings which scare you, Caz—there is a sense of rightness, of harmony, that everyone can see. Everyone except you,” Greta explained.

“No one will push you into anything, Caz,” Freddy promised. “We’re confident you’ll figure it out eventually. If not, we’ll beat some sense into you.”

Fortunately, Theo saved me from further interrogation by delivering breakfast. He’d prepared eggs, toast, and sausage. I checked my food to see if Theo had prepared one of his usual surprises for me. The last time I’d come for breakfast, he served me a dead mouse cooked inside a biscuit. The burnt tail sticking out gave it away. Happily, as far as I could determine, everything on my plate appeared edible.

After breakfast, I took my leave. My jacket and sword were hung in the hall. I followed Freddy’s directions to the gray house with the red door. Just before I knocked, I realized I did not bring one of my calling cards with me. Another reason for Lord Tulley to sneer at me.

There was a brass knocker in the shape of a sphinx. I rapped it against the door. The door opened, and a manservant peered at me. Then, not recognizing me and observing that I was dressed comfortably and not in the height of fashion, he lifted his head to peer down his nose at me.

“Yes?” he said with a nasal tone.

“Casimir FitzDuncan to see Lord Tulley,” I responded.

“I’ll see if he’s in,” the man said with a sniff and shut the door.

I was accustomed to this degree of rudeness from Theo. With Theo, though, it seemed like a bit of harmless fun. This? It just made me mad. I turned on my heel and began walking away. Turning the corner, I heard him call, “Sir?” I kept walking.

I did not head directly back to my rooms. With the Winter Solstice festivities approaching, I needed to find suitable presents for Lucy and Freddy. Lucy, because I loved her, though I had not yet said that word to her, and Freddy, who had proven to be a better friend than I ever imagined. I supposed I might find something for Greta as well. She would soon be Freddy’s fiancée, and I liked her.

To be honest, that was only part of the reason I was dawdling. The other part is I wanted to be challenging to find. If Lord Tulley wanted my help, he would have to extend himself. 

My shopping was fruitful. I found an elegantly thin walking stick with a heavy gold knob. The shaft was made from Carya wood, tough and durable. Freddy wasn’t much with a sword, but this stick would make a fearsome weapon, even in unskilled hands. Because of the gold knob, it was expensive. For Greta, I found a warm, dark blue shawl. The color would match her eyes.

It was three o’clock by the time I ran out of excuses to stay out. I returned to the bookseller, unlocked my door, and climbed the stairs. A knock came at the other door, at the top of the stairs from the shop.

I opened it to find Lord Tulley. Before I could decide which cutting response to deliver, he apologized.  “Mr. FitzDuncan, I am so sorry. I did not tell my man to expect you. He did not know who you were. Regardless, no one should have the door shut in his face. It will not happen again, to anyone.”

“Lord Tulley, won’t you come in?” I said as graciously as I could. “I was not expecting visitors, so I’m afraid I cannot offer you any refreshments.”

I took off my jacket and hung it on a peg, then unbuckled my sword and leaned it against the wall below. Tulley stepped into my sitting room. Then, realizing that I had no manservant to take his coat, he awkwardly squirmed out of his own jacket.

“Please, sit,” I suggested, waving at a chair.

He did. His posture was apprehensive, nervous. He did not sit back in the chair, even though it would have been more comfortable. He waited until I sat before he started to speak. As soon as my bum touched leather, he began, his words coming in a rush.

“Mr. FitzDuncan, a mutual acquaintance gave me your name, as I believe I mentioned in my note. I find myself in a difficult situation. I understand you specialize in helping people in difficult situations.”

“It depends, Lord Tulley,” I responded. “I cannot do the impossible. You’ll need to tell me more before I can make a decision.”

“Quite right,” he agreed eagerly. “It has to do with an investment. Are you familiar with the practice of investing in cargo?”

“I am.”

“Right. Until recently, I restricted my business to the established traders—Coombs, Traval, Hawkins, etc. About six months ago, a man named Daniel Parkinson approached me. He promised a higher return than I was getting from the others but asked for my confidentiality. He said he had a limited clientele and preferred it that way. I bought some small shares to test the waters. The results were as he promised.”

“Three months ago, he came to me with what he described as an incredible opportunity. He told me he appreciated my support and praised my willingness to take a chance on someone less established.   The opportunity he presented to me was intriguing. He told me he had the ability to buy up the entire indigo crop from Andural through a connection he had in their government.   Are you familiar with indigo, Mr. FitzDuncan?”

“I am,” I replied. “It’s a plant from which one can make a dye of a dark blue, almost purple color. Indigo only grows on the southern continent.”

“Exactly,” Tulley affirmed. “Ninety percent of the indigo we get in Aquileia comes from one country: Andural. Indigo is what I would call a luxury commodity, Mr. FitzDuncan. It’s not grown in huge quantity; no other dye is as good and therefore, it fetches a high price. So Parkinson proposed that, together, we buy the entire crop from Andural. We would then control the market for indigo and charge whatever we wished. He proposed that we both contribute a hundred and twenty thousand ducats, and we would be equal partners.”

“Did he claim he needed an immediate answer from you since it was late in the sailing season?” I asked.

Tulley nodded.

“Did he tell you not to breathe a word of this to anyone for fear that his other clients would want to buy in?”

Tulley nodded again.

“He was demanding a hundred and twenty thousand ducats. I presume in gold. Did you ask to see his money?”

“I did,” Tulley replied. “When we delivered the chests to the warehouse, I demanded to see his own chests. He opened them and showed me.”

“Where is Mr. Parkinson now?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“He’s nowhere to be found,” Tulley said forlornly. “I want you to help me get my money back.”

“Did our mutual acquaintance happen to mention my usual terms to you, Lord Tulley?”

“He did. He told me you keep half the value of what you recover.”

“That is correct. Is that acceptable to you?” I asked.

Tulley swallowed hard before answering. “Yes. Our mutual acquaintance warned me not to try to negotiate a lower rate with you, or you would refuse my request.”

That amused me. I thought that Prince Albert referred Tulley to me, but that didn’t sound like Albert. “Quite right. Are you prepared to recover only half?” I asked.

“Yes.” His voice sounded pained.

“You realize that it might be impossible to recover the full amount?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a time constraint?” I asked. “Do you need the money by the end of the year?”

“That is something else I hoped to discuss with you, Mr. FitzDuncan,” he said. “Yes, I need to be able to show the money in the accounts at year-end.”

“All the money, or just half?” I asked.

Tulley looked as though he might cry. “I have been managing the family’s money for the last five years. Up to now, I have generated respectable gains—double what we were getting before. Losing even half of the one hundred and twenty thousand would be so much I could not explain it away. It might cost me my position within the family.”

“Then how do you propose to pay my share?” I asked.

“I need to be able to include the money we recover in my accounts at year-end. I would give you a bank draft for your half, post-dated into the new year. That would give me all of next year to recover it, with my family being none the wiser. A large part of that will come from cutting my own spending as well.”

“So, you want my help in recovering your money and also in concealing your stupidity from your family. Is that fair to say?”

“I suppose it is,” he admitted.

“In what ways are you planning on reducing your own spending?” I inquired.

“I have already made arrangements to move to a less expensive residence. My clubs have agreed to allow me to go on inactive status next year. I will be letting my manservant go—the one who shut the door in your face. Those changes will enable me to regain at least thirty-five thousand. With other economies, I might save forty thousand. If I manage the accounts wisely, as I did before this incident, I will be able to show a profit no worse than what we earned before. It will be less than what I have been making but still acceptable. ”

I had been thinking that I would charge Tulley a premium for agreeing to his delay in payment. I was thinking of it as a punishment. However, when he described the changes he had already set in motion, I decided against it. It bothered me that he planned to conceal his foolishness from his family, but he was willing to accept most of the consequences.

“Lord Tulley, I will need to think about this,” I responded. “Meet me at the Temple of the Three Major Gods in Prosperity Square the day after tomorrow at ten o’clock. I will give you my answer then. If I decide to help you, then you can join me in making offerings for our mutual success.”

After he left, I thought about his problem. He wasn’t the first person to be seduced by his own greed and wouldn’t be the last. They were prey for people like Parkinson. I didn’t particularly like Lord Tulley, or, at least, the Lord Tulley I knew before seeing this more humble version of him today. He needed to get his money before the end of the year. That left just over four weeks. Ideally, I would get this done before the Winter Solstice festivities started. That shortened the time by another week. Parkinson could be anywhere, and he wasn’t likely to be using the name Parkinson any longer. The only reason I would consider taking this on was the money. 

That thought made me pause. If I were successful, I’d more than double my assets. That alone was attractive. And with Freddy and Greta talking of their imminent betrothal this morning—

Wait a minute! What does that have to do with anything? I said to myself. You haven’t even told her you love her yet, fool!

The time limit was daunting. I might not be able to find Parkinson by then. I would also need to devise a way to get Tulley’s money back. Showing up with sword drawn and demanding it would undoubtedly not work. Still, the project would keep me busy for the next few weeks and give me something to do. I decided to set the question of Lord Tulley aside. I would let it rest and see if I had other thoughts that would help me make a good decision.