Lord of the Manor -- Section 4

[Today was a battle again, mostly because I was trying to fit in another character that simply wouldn't fit. He was going to be a love interest for Maddie, which would make for a great love triangle that would span all three books in an AWESOME TENSION THAT WOULD RIVAL TWILIGHT! Team Michael! Team Other Guy!


[But like I said, he didn't fit. So now he's gone. As soon as I realized he was a mistake, today's writing went much faster. Enjoy.]

            "Looks like I was right," said Maddie's mom, hanging up the phone.

            "About what?" asked her father.

            "No staff out at the old manor, or at least not much. That was..." she looked down at the slip of paper in her hand, "Michael Arches, calling to order a large pepperoni and sausage. Also an order of cheesy bread, and lemonade. Guess he doesn't go for carbonation." Mrs. Sparks looked thoughtful. "I hope he's all right. It seemed like he was babbling a bit."

            "That's because you're scary to talk to, Mom," said Maddie, finishing her National Geographic in the corner of the kitchen. "You're so tall."

            "I'm scary over the phone?"

            "Exactly," said Maddie.

            "She's got a point, dear," said Mr. Sparks. "There's something in your voice. You sound tall."

            Maddie's mom threw a towel at her husband. "At least the boy called before the dinner rush. Should I call Sven and have him come in early to deliver it? He's been asking for extra hours."

            Maddie sat up, smiling hopefully.

            Her mother looked at her. "You're not serious."

            "Why not?" asked Maddie. "It's not like I haven't done it before, and I still bike all the time, so my legs are in good shape. See? Look at them."

            "I just don't want the boy looking at your legs," said Mrs. Sparks.

            "From what I hear," said her dad, "the boy and your legs are about the same height."

            "Dad!"

            "He could ask your legs out. Go dancing, or something. Your legs could borrow some of your mother's nice dress slacks." It was Maddie's turn to throw a towel at her dad. He caught it before it could fall to the floor. "Come on, you two. We have to have at least SOME clean towels for the dinner rush, and I'm the one who has to do the laundry."

            "It's your fault, Dad."

            Mrs. Sparks nodded. "She has a point, dear."

            "So," said Maddie, "can I take this delivery?"

            "Why?" asked her mother.

            Maddie shrugged.

            "Not a good enough answer,” said her mom. “The old Mr. Arches was one thing. He'd been there forever, everyone knew him, and everyone TRUSTED him. All we know about this boy is that he's short and named Michael."

            "And he has pretty eyes," chipped in her father.

            "Exactly," said Mrs. Sparks. "So I don't know if I'm comfortable with you heading all the way out there to deliver a pizza to someone we don't know."

            "Who has pretty eyes," added her father.

            "Can I have that towel back?" asked Maddie.

            "What for?"

            "So I can throw it at you again."

            "In that case, I'll think about it."

            Maddie put down her magazine and looked at her mom. "It's not a date, Mom. It's just pizza and cheesy bread, and I won't even be eating any. I drop it off, turn around, and pedal away."

            "While the young man looks at your legs," added her dad.

            "I'll wear long pants."

            "I still want to know why," said her mother.

            Maddie looked over at the rows of toppings on the counter. "I just want to see the place again," she said. "See what its like. Get it into my head that Mr. Arches isn't there anymore. The funeral was during spring break, and I was down at Aunt Tammy's."

            "Oh, that's right," said Mrs. Sparks. "I had entirely forgotten about that. Were you and Mr. Arches friends?"

            "Yeah," said Maddie. "Kinda."

            "I hadn't realized. I just thought you took him pizza."

            "Well," said Maddie, "I did. That was it, but he was really friendly." She realized her dad was looking at her, his face serious.

            "Take the delivery," he said.

            "Really?"

            "Yes. You're right about Mr. Arches. He was a good man. Very friendly." Then her dad smiled. "Also, very OLD. Never had to worry about HIM looking at your legs."

            "Dad!"

            It was longer out to Daimon Home than Maddie remembered--it had been months since she'd been around at the right time to take the old man a delivery--but she hadn't been lying about being in shape, either. She skidded to a halt in front of the gate and looked at her watch: fifteen minutes. Not too shabby, she thought.

            The beginning of summer gave her enough afternoon light to see by, even through the canopy of trees, as she pedaled her way down the manor's long drive. She smiled in anticipation. She was almost to one of her favorite parts of the trip. There it was ahead of her, the arch of trees that signaled the end of the canopy. She put on an extra bit of speed and broke out into the sunlight. After a moment, gravity took over and she started the long coast down to the center of the basin and the manor house.

            Maddie looked around as she coasted. Things were messier than before. Her mom was probably right, that there was no money for staff. Of course, Maddie had never seen staff around the place. Mr. Arches had always met her himself, and he always tipped well, too. She admitted to herself, the money was part of the reason she had liked coming out here, but only part of it. She still wanted to go through the hedge maze someday, or maybe even swim in the lake. The stream looked like it could be fun for tubing, if the water weren't too cold. She supposed she could ask the boy--Michael?--if she could come at the end of summer to swim. On second thought, maybe not. He might take that the wrong way.

            She reached the gardens close around the manor house and started pedaling again, bending around past the funky-looking bushes to the north, and bump-bumping over the paving stones to the servants' entrance at the north-east corner. A little late, Maddie wondered if maybe the boy wanted it delivered to the front entrance, but then decided to try here first. Something about those huge doors made her uneasy.

            Maddie stopped, climbed off, and leaned her bike against the cracked plaster of the wall. A few more seconds and the pizza, cheesy bread, and bottle of lemonade were off the rack on the back of the bike and she was standing at the door. She glanced down at her legs, a little self-consciously. In the end, she'd stuck with shorts--long ones--because it was summer, and she was NOT wearing pants in summer. But still, now she was afraid she'd be spending the whole time she was delivering the pizza worrying about him looking at her legs. Not that it mattered what he thought about her legs.

            Maddie growled at herself and knocked on the door. Even if he were a midget and spent the whole time staring at her kneecaps, she was only here to deliver the pizza and go. And to say goodbye to Mr. Arches. She knocked on the door again and it opened.

            "Oh my goodness," she said under her breath. He WAS a midget, and he was staring at her kneecaps.

            "I believe that is a knock at the door, young Master." Silver was standing at the door of Michael's temporary bedroom. Michael hadn't been able to figure out what the room used to be--and he hadn't gotten up the courage to ask--but whatever it had been hadn't involved wallpaper. Or shelves. Or windows. But there was a bed and a desk, and enough empty space for him to put his suitcase.

            Also, maybe most importantly, there were electrical sockets. He knew that Silver had said the wireless needed to be reset, but he pulled out his laptop anyway, to see if he could pick up any kind of--nothing. No signal at all. Darn it.

            "I hate to interrupt again," said the butler, "but I wish to remind you that someone is knocking at the door."

            "Right," said Michael, pulling out his phone to send a text to his mom and dad. What would he say? Telling them the internet was out would be easy enough, but what about the rest? He needed to think.

            "Would you prefer that I take care of it, sir?" asked Master Silver.

            "Yeah, great," said Michael absently. Tell them he was making friends with the staff? That would sound way too much like he was off at camp. HI MOM, LIFE IS GREAT, WE CANOE IN THE LAKE AND HAVE ARCHERY LESSONS. P.S. PLEASE SEND CREAM FOR POISON IVY. Maybe he could just tell them he was busy getting settled. That, at least, would be honest, even if it weren't complete. Weren't even CLOSE to complete.

            Michael's brain finally processed what Silver had been saying and he looked up from his phone to the door: no butler. He heard, from down the hall, the sound of the outside door opening.

            "Oh," he said. "Crap."

            He stuffed his phone back into his pocket and shot out the door, bouncing off the hall wall as he slid across the tile in his stocking feet. It was only a few seconds before he was at the door, but it was a few seconds too late.

            Master Silver was looking up at one of the taller girls Michael had ever seen. The girl was holding pizza boxes, a pop bottle, and was looking back down. Neither one moved. Neither one said anything.

            "Hey," said Michael.

            The girl looked up at him--well, 'up' in comparison to looking at Silver--and her eyes were wide. And green. Also, her hair looked pretty good in a pony tail. Too bad she was Mt. Everest.

            "He has wings," said the girl.

            "Exactly," said Michael, his brain scampering around in his skull like a hamster in a hamster-wheel. "It's...a tradition at the manor. Costumes. Sort of a Halloween thing to welcome the new guy."

            "Master Arches," said Silver, "I know it is not my place to contradict you--"

            "Perfect," said Michael. "Yeah, right, we'll figure it out, and I'll take care of the pizza now. Sorry for making you come out here."

            Silver turned and bowed to the girl's kneecaps. "Young miss," he said, and walked back to his pantry, rather stiffly to Michael's eye. Maybe he'd offended the butler, but the less of a look the girl got at the butler's 'costume,' the better. Michael stuffed his hand down his shorts pocket and pulled out his wallet.

            "How much?" he asked.

            "Fifteen," she said. "Was that your butler?"

            Michael started counting out fifteen from the money Mr. Canker had given him, then remembered the tip, gave it all up and pulled out a twenty. "What's that? Um, yeah, my butler. Crazy, huh? Having a butler? I don't even know what to do with him. If I had a car, I'd probably have him polish it, but hey, I don't, so...um...I don't. Here's twenty."

            The girl looked down at her full hands, then back at the twenty.

            "Oh!" said Michael. "Of course. Here, let me take the lemonade--I'll just put it down here--and the pizza, and if you can take the money out of my hand--perfect, right? Awesome. Thanks for the pizza. I'll probably call you again."

            Michael knew his mouth was spitting out words faster than his brain could double-check them, but anything to distract from the fact that his butler was a demon. He nodded up at her, smiling, and hooked his foot around the door to close it.

            "We serve salads, too," said the girl.

            Michael froze, his foot caught awkwardly behind the door. Oh. She wanted to talk.

            "Great," he said. "I like salads."

            "Also sub sandwiches."

            "Yeah, I saw those on the menu."

            "Are you going to be here long?"

            Michael opened his mouth and closed it. What was up? She wasn't looking at him, that was for sure. Her eyes were looking down to where Silver had disappeared into his pantry.

            "Probably not," he said. "I mean, for the summer, and maybe longer, but I don't know. Look, do you mind if I get these back into--"

            "Did you know him?" asked the girl, looking down at Michael.

            "Him?"

            "The old Mr. Arches."

            "Oh! Great-grandpa? No, not really. I mean, when they told me I'd inherited this place was about the first time I'd ever really thought about him. He lived a long way away, and was kind of a recluse."

            "From his family?" she asked.

            "Yeah. Never came to reunions or anything. Though I guess it gets hard to travel when you're older."

            "Huh," said the girl. "He always seemed very fit to me."

            "I don't know," shrugged Michael. "Maybe he didn't like us much."

            "Then why did he leave you this place?"

            DON'T I WISH I KNEW, thought Michael. "Maybe he thought we had something in common. I think his name was Michael, too."

            "Oh, sorry," said the girl. "My name's Madeline Sparks. Maddie."

            "Hi. I'm Michael Arches. But you probably knew that."

            "Yeah," she nodded. "It was on the pizza order."

            She looked at him, glanced back toward the butler's pantry, then back down to Michael.

            "Well," she said. "Thanks for the tip."

            "Sure," said Michael, trying for a pleasant smile that came out feeling rather flat. "Thanks for driving it out here."

            Maddie shook her head. "I don't drive." She pointed to the side of the door.      Michael unhooked his foot and leaned outside enough to get a look at her bicycle leaning against the wall.

            "You biked?" he asked. "Isn't that kind of far? Even from the gate is a long way." He knew. He'd had to walk it with a suitcase. Stupid gravel.

            Maddie shrugged. "Not too bad. I get tough legs from my mom's side of the family."

            Michael glanced down at her legs. They WERE nice legs, and he was willing to take her word that they were tough. He looked back up at her face and she was blushing.

            "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean--I mean, they're nice legs--oh, that was worse."

            "Don't worry about it," said Maddie. "I should go."

            "Of course," said Michael. "Thanks again for the pizza."

            The girl nodded as she picked her bike back up from the wall and swung her leg over the seat. Then she stopped and looked Michael in the eyes.

            "Those wings were a costume?" she asked.

            "Absolutely," he lied. "The staff likes to joke. Ha."

            Her lips flattened, then she shrugged. "Nice to meet you, Michael."

            "Nice to meet you, Maddie."

            Michael pushed the door closed with his back and sagged down to the ground.

            "Is there any way that could have gone worse?" he muttered.

            "I expect there is, young Master," said Silver, stepping out of his pantry. "I apologize if I handled the situation inappropriately."

            "Nah," said Michael, shaking his head. "You did exactly what I told you to do. Sorry I sent you out to talk to a, you know, normal person."

            "I'm afraid I don't understand your meaning," said the butler.

            "A human. I had you come out to deal with a human. I just assumed you normally don't like having anything to do with us."

            Silver's bushy eyebrows swept down over his eyes, his face perplexed. "Whatever would give you that idea, sir? Of course we interact with humans. It is what civilizes us. Now, let me find you some plates."

            "No," said Michael. "I don't need plates. Just...napkins or something. And a glass. Two glasses, if you want some. Do you like pizza? I mean, if you don't mind eating with me. I can't eat the whole thing on my own, and you--do you want some pizza?"

            The butler smiled politely. "I will gladly join you, young Master. In fact, some of my favorite memories with the old Master were made over a combo pizza and root beer."

            "Sorry, are those your favorites?" Michael cringed inside. "I didn't even think to ask what you'd want. I just kind of--"

            "Please, sir." The butler silenced the boy with those two words. "This is your home. You don't need to ask permission." Then Silver turned with all the dignity of a butler three times his size, and went in search of napkins and glasses.

            "Then why does it feel like I need to?" Michael asked himself.

            They ate in the butler's pantry. Michael had expected paper napkins and paper cups--wasn't that how you ate pizza? Pizza on anything else seemed almost sacrilegious.

Instead, from somewhere, Silver had produced cloth napkins so thick they were almost towels. Michael's glass was one of the same cut-glass set that his bottled water had come in before. Silver's glass was small and silver, just right for the demon's stature. Somehow, with the finesse of a demon truly gifted in his profession, the butler used his entire body to tip the two-liters of lemonade, pouring into each glass perfectly and without spilling a drop. Michael wanted to offer to help, but something in the butler's manner forbade it, so the boy sat quietly. He ate his pizza carefully, embarrassed when stretchy cheese splattered tomato onto his chin, or when he spilled lemonade onto his shirt.

            When most of the pizza was gone, Michael couldn't escape to his room fast enough. His head felt like it was spinning. Maybe there was something in the lemonade--it was too old, it had fermented--no, it was just that there was plenty in his life right now to leave him confused. As far as he'd seen, it was just the butler and him in the entire mansion, though Silver had talked about other residents. As he walked the short distance down the hall to his room, Michael wondered when he'd meet them.

            He stepped inside, pushed his door closed behind him, then jumped back, colliding with the door he'd just closed. There, sitting on his bed, was another demon.

            At least, he supposed it was a demon. It looked like a little man the way that Silver looked like a man, maybe two-feet tall, but where Silver had bat wings, this demon had something angular around his eyes, maybe something funny about his fingers, but nothing else obvious. He was dressed in baggy pants and a T-shirt that said SU CASA ES MI CASA. He didn't LOOK threatening, but Michael felt behind him for the doorknob anyway.

            The little demon smiled reassuringly and held out his hands to his sides. "I'm not here to hurt you, young Master. I'm here to offer my services."

            Michael got his voice back. "Who are you?"

            The demon looked thoughtful. "You can call me Sticks," he said.