Jim Harrow's Deal

Thirty years ago, Jim Harrow was a two-fisted drunk who made his shine money brawling in dockside taverns across the Many Rivers Delta. He slept where he passed out, ate when he remembered to, and drank his weight in liquor every week. Twenty-five years old, he hadn’t a prospect for employment or marriage, and seemed destined to die in the gutter.
But one night, everything changed. Lying drunk in an alley, Jim heard the clip-clopping of hooves approaching from the street. Something about the sound of it struck Jim kinda funny, and so he cracked an eye to see a devil walking by him, nice as you like, wearing a fine blue coat and carrying satchel which jingled when he walked, in time with the clip-clopping of his feet.
Never the sort to miss the obvious, Jim said something to him about the cut of his coat. After all, he’d never brawled a devil before, and he was feeling kinda ornery at being woken up. So he got to his feet and called the devil on again, this time making comment on how fine that devil’s horns would look upon a mantelpiece.
But that devil just kept walking on by.
So Jim called him boneless, and said he’d sooner fear a pixie than any sort of devil. Well, I’ll tell you now, that gave the devil pause. “Just so? Mayhaps you’re wiser than you seem.” said he, turning his yellow eyes onto Jim Harrow and smiling himself a fine, fang-toothed grin. “Could you be wise enough to know the deal of your lifetime, if you saw it?”
Jim reckoned he could, and said so. And so he and the devil got to dealing.




By the next morning, Jim was sobered up with a fine new blue coat and a satchel full of money that jingled when he walked. He walked right out of that town, onto a riverboat, and when he made port in Ironmere he wandered overland until he found himself a suitable hamlet where he purchased an acre of rough land with a tumbledown cottage on it for eighteen pieces of silver.
Jim worked that greedy soil day and night for a whole year before he got anything that weren’t grass out of it. He tilled it, mixed manure in with the dirt to fortify it. He spent his fortune consulting alchemists and steamsmiths to devise new ways to enrich and improve his land. He worked it for another year, and saw that acre produce more than any other in the area.
Jim took a wife in his third year in Hollow, and she gave him a son the next summer. The boy Greyvax grew strong and well-favoured, and heartened by his legacy Jim purchased another acre on credit. He paid for it the next year, in cash. And so it went for most of a decade, until Jim Harrow was the largest landowner (excepting His Imperial Majesty, of course) in the county.
Ten years to the day after Jim had arrived in his new home, Daisy Harrow died while birthing the twins Jonah and Kate. Now thirty-five, from the moment Jim Harrow first lay his eyes upon his daughter, he knew he’d done a terrible thing in agreeing to the devil’s bargain.
He had twenty years left, before the devil came to claim his bride.
Not a man to rest on his laurels, Jim buried his wife in the hamlet’s cemetery the morning after the twins were born. A week later, he’d retained the services of a wet-nurse and a housekeeper to see to the well-being of his children while he worked his land.
It was to be one of the wisest things he’d ever inadvertently done. For the next nineteen years, Jim Harrow saw his fortunes steadily improve, and he was able to hire more hands to aid in the working of his farm. He grew rich and, because he didn’t have to spend every waking minute working, he spent his evenings learning to read alongside his children and more than a few market-days perusing the volumes for sale while his foremen saw to the running of the farm. Consequently, the Harrow House amassed a respectable library of books.
Greyvax, never much for booklearning, joined the Imperial Legion when he was eighteen (with special dispensation for his young age) and spent the next ten years serving the empire abroad with distinction.
The day after Greyvax left for the legions, Jim returned from Ironmere Market with the ‘winter readin’. Among these volumes was a slim, apprentice-level spell primer. It was a book which would change young Jonah’s life; he read it voraciously and (with the help of the Nurse, who had remained after the children had need of her milk to serve as their teacher) quickly mastered the spells therein. Not only a man of letters, now, Jonah had an informal trade as a tinker, using his spells to mend broken implements and fix malfunctioning farm equipment.
For her part, Kate devoted herself to learning. Music, maths, literature, histories.. no subject escaped her keen wits. She became a fine tailor, a wonderful cook, and a gracious hostess, to say nothing of her beauty. In no time flat, all of the lads of the village sought to court her.
Chief among these was Jin, the adopted son of the local miller and Jonah’s best friend. And though Kate didn’t send him packing like she had so many before, both knew it was not to be. As a Nonhuman (a Changeling to boot!), he would never be able to marry her. But love cares not for laws, and so they were content to let it be as it was, and so it continued.
On the evening of the twins’ nineteenth birthday, everything changed.



The garden which surrounds the Harrow House is a marvel of botanical engineering. Elegant hedges curve along graceful lines, outlined and punctuated by a broad spectrum of colours provided by flowers and herbs. The overall effect is an harmonious blending of colour, shape, and scent which calms the senses as one approaches the door to the modest farmhouse; the door itself is surrounded by an arching arbour of ever-blooming roses.
When seen from above, however, the garden’s true purpose is revealed, for the lines and colours of the hedges flow and connect to become the Third Circle of Guarding.. a potent eldritch charm which bars the entry of all who come uninvited or with malice in their hearts.
It’s a rather remarkable bit of fusion between feng-shui and herbals which takes years to manage and hours of maintenance, and Nanny Blackmoor is understandably proud of it. While the hedge ward is impressive, it’s not her favourite part of the garden. No, that spot belongs to the Rose Portal ward which guards the house proper; savage and thorny, they bloom year-round. So puissant is this ward that not even the tricksy fey can outwit its protections. It is, simply, a masterwork of practical magic. When she was still a young Sister of the Convent at Thorn, the Mothers had lauded her prowess with the low magics, and her skill had only grown since she’d entered Jim Harrow’s service. She could manage cross-disciplinary effects whose potency and longevity were unmatched anywhere in the Duchy, if not the province. It’s a reputation-maker for sure, the result of her long effort on the part of a talented witch. But still, it’s not her crowning achievement.
Tonight, it’s the twins’ nineteenth birthday, so that’s why this impressive garden is appointed for a party. The tables are set, the lanterns are lit, and minstrels all the way from Ironmere are tuning up on the stage. Two pigs, twenty chickens, and a side of beef roast over pits of glowing embers, big baskets of bread and rolls adorn the tables, and Nanny Blackmoor’s surveying it all with a masterful eye for organisation, sending one of the girls here to adjust an arrangement, or there to change out a cracked goblet. The sun is westering in the late spring evening, and soon, the guests will arrive. Satisfied that all is in order, Nanny goes to change her dress for the party.
Kate’s deeply ensconced in her closet by this time, so when the curtains in her bedroom billow inward with a breeze she’s unsurprised to see Jin there, flowing easily through the window and being careful not to mess up his party clothes. She smiles at him over her shoulder, and he bows smoothly, the features of his face shifting to mimic those of the acclaimed actor Prothero, her favourite. With a flourish, he grins the actor’s famous grin and offers her a daisy from nowhere. She shrugs on a robe, for decency’s sake, and takes the proffered flower, gesturing for him to sit.
“You could at least return the bow, you brute.” says Jin, relaxing his features into his habitual human face. “Manners, manners!”
“I’m in my bodice, you lech.” she replies, “You just wanted a peek.”
“Ah, hoisted by my own evil petards.” He has no idea what a petard is, nor how one might be hoisted from them, but it sounds good and besides, the phrase is mentioned several times in the plays which are his only link to his natural family. It's fancy-talk, the kind she likes, and he's pretty sure he'll come up with something if he's called on it. She doesn’t ask, anyway.
“Jin, the party’s to start soon, and I’m expected. Not that I’m not happy to see you, but…”
“I just came to give you this.” Another flourish, and a phial sits at his fingertips. “Essence of Honey. It smells like summer.” Her blue eyes widen, her features all surprise, and then she lights up that smile. Tucking a strand of honey-ginger hair behind her ear, she leans in and gives him a big, warm hug. And Jin notices (not for the first time, either) that she smells like summer, too.
Jonah’s returning from the west field, where he’s been repairing the cultivator all afternoon, when he notices that his sister’s window’s open by the billowing curtains from within. So he sets down his toolbox, flexes his fingers a couple of times, and rolls his shoulders. The sun’s about to touch the horizon over the moorlands, now, so as Jonah intones the syllable of magic which calls forth a five-pound globe of force, the lightning dance of magical currents between his fingertips is an even-more impressive display of light and sound than usual.
It’s his old wood-splitting charm, but he knows it intimately and so he dims its intensity, and then sheds its mystic weight until it is the size of a good throwin’ stone. Once he’s satisfied with it, he leans on back against a fencepost and sets in to waitin’. He doesn’t wait long; a foot sneaking out the window onto the trellis, and Jonah stands up. As the Changeling swings out of the window, Jonah winds up and whispers a Word which sharpens his aim. Jin, grinning, swings easily down to the yard, and Jonah lets fly. Five feet from the ground, and the Changeling releases his hold on the trellis to drop the remaining distance, when Jonah’s magic missile hits him squarely above the ear, turning him in midair to land in a boneless heap on the ground.
Sense returns to Jin a moment later with the scents of a lighting match, pipe tobacco and well-oiled tools. He rolls onto his back and opens his eyes to see Jonah crouched there next to his toolbox and lighting his pipe. Jonah watches the formless face come back around, regretting the toss even as he’s proud of the timing. When the changeling opens big, black eyes and extends long, many-jointed fingers to gingerly touch the bruising white skin of his temple, his minute features flicker annoyance and slowly, his face flushes red.
“Sorry. I was aiming for your back.”
“You missed.” Shaking off the worst of it now, the changeling’s skin deepens to a workman’s tan and his features rearrange themselves into his customary face, scowling displeasure. “Why in the hells would you even conceive of doing that?”
“It’s my birthday, and my sister’s.” Jonah says, as if that explains it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hit your head. You okay?”
“I will be.” His face firmed up at last, he surveys the state of his attire, and sighs.
“Great. Go and change, you’re all grass-stained.”
By the time Jin got back to Harrow House, the party was well underway and the moons were rising in the East.
We’ll step back in time a piece, ten years or so, and see these two at it then. Jonah, well-read and privileged, and Jin, the adopted son of a moorlands miller. The two have become fast friends in the last year or two, since the changeling boy first offered to let Jonah read the Plays.
Jin had done this for many reasons. Primarily, he knew the Harrow boy could read and thereby unlock the stories and secrets within those works, but also because he was lonely. Despite Jim Harrow’s decree that the boy be left unmolested and given a chance to grow like every other child, none of the families of Hollow were too eager to let their children play with him. In offering the Plays, Jin offered a chance for Jonah’s imagination to escape the confines of the small, farming hamlet with histories, comedies, tragedies, and farces. Quite unbeknownst to Jin, the Plays also contained minor spellnotes, the sorcery of show-business, in their margins. It was a trove to Jonah, who devoured their stories and notations voraciously.
Inevitably, childhood boredom compelled the two to try their hand at acting. Jonah was inevitably the chiselled hero of the piece, and Jin was everyone else. In their games, Jin charged happily to his death at the eldritch spells of the Lorecarver whilst wearing goblin-faces, stroked fiendishly at long, handlebar mustaches as Jonah’s protagonist foiled his evil plots, or else joined his friend as sidekick and companion on his journeys.
So it went that as the other children of the hamlet flocked to play their games with them, it was a notedly even split between those who wanted to back the hero, and those who wanted to play goblins or henchmen. New stories were written by the children of Hollow involving the hero Bruticus and his archnemesis the Oni King, and before anyone knew it, the kid who could change his face wasn’t so strange anymore.
Because of his late arrival, it was Jin who noticed the riders first. He was standing in the hedges of the garden as they drew up on their powerful stallions, the thunder of their massive hooves audible long before they hove into sight at the edge of the lantern-light.
And there they stopped. Noticing Jin, the red-cloaked rider called out, asking if he and his companion might avail themselves of the House’s hospitality. And with it being a party and all, he assented with all grace. So the riders dismounted. Where they set their feet they left burnt footprints, but as invited guests, they strolled past the garden ward as though it were any other garden to join the party.
They drew their hoods back from their faces, displaying their proud, shiny black horns and cruel, infernally-handsome features, and where they went silence followed. All eyes followed as they presented themselves to their host.
Ashen-faced, Jim Harrow asked them what they wanted.
“We have come,” said the rider with the crimson cloak, “to present our suit on behalf of our father, the Duke of Vol Sarkoth.” Here, he smiled a fang-toothed grin, pausing for effect. “My brother and I present ourselves to your inspection and approval, sir, as potential suitors for your daughter’s hand in marriage, pursuant to your agreement.” And here, he presented a scroll from the sleeve of his rich, padded silk tunic. “But we should not discuss business at a party. Shall we adjourn?”
On shaky legs, Jim Harrow made to follow the brothers to the dooryard, mumbling half-heartedly to the minstrels to continue with their songs. They did, but the mood was spoiled. Fifteen minutes later, the guests were mostly gone.