Owner (Blood Brotherhood 2)

1

Thor

The Blood Brotherhood is a secret cabal of powerful priests and laymen who have dedicated their lives to the eradication of evil on Earth. I was brought into the Brotherhood because of my fearsome powers and my talent for finding anything and anyone, no matter where they might roam. I have slain giants. I have broken the wills of tyrants. I have saved families from the ravages of famine, war, and poverty. I do not mention this out of any sense of ego. I mention it because right now, in my hallowed role as a member of the clandestine Blood Brotherhood, I am staring at a bucket. It is not even a special bucket. It is just a slightly rusty old metal bucket.

To be fair, that is what we are all doing. Myself. Bryn, the somewhat disputed leader of the Blood Brotherhood. Crichton, the demon butler. Mrs Crocombe, the demon cook. And of course, Bryn’s wife, Nina, the vessel of angel blood. There is more dark magic and angelic power in this room than in the entirety of the vale. There is great education too, though that is not currently conscious. Steven, keeper of ancient knowledge, snores in an armchair in the corner.

You’d be forgiven for thinking we’re engaging in some arcane ritual, but this could not be more mundane.

Plunk

Plunk

Plunk

Water drips into the bucket steadily, in an easy to interpret and predictable rhythm. It’s coming from the roof and through the ceiling. It should not be doing either of those things.

The reason for the bucket is complicated and begins over a thousand years ago. Direview Abbey was built in the thirteenth century, and it is showing its age. The roof was replaced around sixty-six years ago. It is time it was replaced again.

“A million pounds,” Bryn says. “How can anything possibly cost a million pounds?”

He already knows, because the contractor already told him. These historically listed buildings can’t just be fixed with any old materials. They’ve got to match the original as best as possible. That means craftsmen have to be involved, real craftsmen with degrees in history, not just builders. Then there’s the materials. And inflation. And a whole lot of problems none of us can solve by stabbing something, which would be our strong preference.

“The bucket is working,” I say. “Could buy a lot of buckets for a million pounds.”

“If we’re broke,” Nina interjects. “Could we sell some of my blood? I hear that fetches a high price?”

Bryn refuses that idea outright. “Only among those who practice dark arts. We are trying to project a legitimate front. One that can produce tax records.”

“But you’re a priest, and churches are tax exempt.”

“That’s… that’s not how it works. We still have to produce evidence of income, or churches would simply become unquestionable money laundering venues.”

“Is that not what they are now?”

“No.”

“You’re so naive sometimes.” She rolls her eyes.

Nina is a lot younger than her husband, and so therefore still imagines she knows everything. It’s nice to see her holding onto some of her innocence after all she has been through.

“This place is like a museum. What if we open it to the public?” Bryn makes the suggestion, surprising everybody with what a terrible idea that is for so very many reasons.

“Why don’t we open the secret and sacred seat of our Brotherhood to the grubby-fingered public?” Crichton is the first to be overtly offended. He does not like people in general. He finds the general public almost completely intolerable.

“No. I think this is the best idea,” Bryn insists, having heard no other ideas whatsoever. “We’ll open the gardens and the kitchen to the public in an effort to make some funds to redo the roof. We’ll display a few artifacts of interest and sell cotton candy. I can announce it to the congregation, and we can use the internet to attract interest from further afield, so Nina informs me. Thor, are you in?”

“Sure,” I say, wanting to be a team player. “Why not.”

One Sunday later…

Why not? So many reasons why not, as it turns out. We have erected little stalls in the garden to display our exhibits, which makes me feel like I should have pigtails and a lemonade stand. There is something all too humbling about presenting these parts of ourselves. The visitors have no idea that they are being shown some of the most priceless and arcane objects in existence. Some of them seem to think that this is a fete, and the items are for sale. Other people keep trying to buy raffle tickets. We are a secret brotherhood and this was not a good idea. Bryn is trying far too hard to be normal. I know he wants to do that for Nina, but we have gone too far.

I end up standing at a stall with my most treasured and priceless possession before me, being largely ignored by people who keep asking for more of Mrs Crocombe’s hot chips and battered fish.