now.
The entire back wall held spiral displays created from taking hundreds of swords, placing their tips together, and fanning them outward, using the hilts as the circle’s circumference. Large spiral displays were at both ends of the wall, interspersed with smaller ones, presumably fashioned from a like amount of daggers. He couldn’t tell in the lighting and from this distance, but that’s exactly what it looked like.
Eight.
Nine.
No.
They had thirteen of the displays up there.
Someone had taken flintlock rifles and done the same thing along the walls on both sides of the room, alternating them with smaller spirals made from smaller weapons – he’d guess pistols. A glance over his shoulder showed that the wall behind him was almost entirely taken up with a collection of shields. All kinds of shapes. Several different materials. This was unbelievable. Stunning.
Neal was looking at an array of armament that would shame the acquisitions department of any institution he could name. There was an incalculable amount of wealth and power on the walls about him. The impression was of dominance. Command. Supremacy. It left the viewer with an uneasy feeling. As if they’d lost significance.
He felt it.
He knew it was intentional.
And he owned all of this?
No. Wait .
It didn’t matter who was the Duke of Straith-whatever. Who owned the castle. How they acquired it. Neal didn’t care about people. Their machinations. Petty problems. Human failings. He needed to remember his goals.
Market takeover.
Save the planet.
Period.
He lowered his head. There were four massive stone fireplaces along each wall. Eight in all. That was probably an attempt to warm the place, as well as provide light. He wondered if they burned wood. And from where would they get it? The waste was incalculable. It was beyond wasteful. Those fireplaces probably didn’t even work well. Neal couldn’t imagine how dark and cold this place was at night. He could guess.
But...wait. Wasn’t Benjamin Franklin around doing the kite and key and lightning experiment about now? Hmm . Electricity was a viable stock option. If Neal lived long enough to see it offered. Or maybe he could manage to jumpstart that industry, too. He had another item for his portfolio.
He really needed to get this written down!
Neal moved his attention to the staircase gracing the back wall. It had been constructed using more of the dark stones. There were two lengths of steps rising in tandem along the side walls. They curved inward, and met at a large landing that looked capable of holding members of an entire board of any of his companies. It was well above the floor. Ten feet or so beneath the lowest display of swords.
Those must be a pain in the ass to dust.
He’d smiled at the instant thought. Then realized, the estate must have an army of employees. He wondered what that must cost. In 1803 terms.
And then he ignored it.
Who cared?
He had larger plans.
There was a shadowy space beneath the landing. Neal could just make out a set of doors. Massive, carved wooden affairs, containing long handles fashioned of antlers. The entire room was medieval. Masculine-themed. The ladies of the house must not have exercised much influence. But, that might have been normal for the area and time period. What did he know?
One door opened.
And Garrick Straith walked into the room.
Neal didn’t need to ask the fellow’s identity. He just knew. His steward had dark hair. It was pulled back into a pony-tail, exactly like the one Neal sported. Garrick was fit. Not unattractive. Save for the dark beard he wore, Garrick was close to Neal in size and appearance. He rapidly closed the distance between them, his strides making a thumping sound that turned into a mass of noise resembling a band of drummers without much rhythm. Garrick had been pretty damned impressive as he’d neared, his kilt flapping along his thighs. Neal got a sensation of something malevolent. That was highly
The entire back wall held spiral displays created from taking hundreds of swords, placing their tips together, and fanning them outward, using the hilts as the circle’s circumference. Large spiral displays were at both ends of the wall, interspersed with smaller ones, presumably fashioned from a like amount of daggers. He couldn’t tell in the lighting and from this distance, but that’s exactly what it looked like.
Eight.
Nine.
No.
They had thirteen of the displays up there.
Someone had taken flintlock rifles and done the same thing along the walls on both sides of the room, alternating them with smaller spirals made from smaller weapons – he’d guess pistols. A glance over his shoulder showed that the wall behind him was almost entirely taken up with a collection of shields. All kinds of shapes. Several different materials. This was unbelievable. Stunning.
Neal was looking at an array of armament that would shame the acquisitions department of any institution he could name. There was an incalculable amount of wealth and power on the walls about him. The impression was of dominance. Command. Supremacy. It left the viewer with an uneasy feeling. As if they’d lost significance.
He felt it.
He knew it was intentional.
And he owned all of this?
No. Wait .
It didn’t matter who was the Duke of Straith-whatever. Who owned the castle. How they acquired it. Neal didn’t care about people. Their machinations. Petty problems. Human failings. He needed to remember his goals.
Market takeover.
Save the planet.
Period.
He lowered his head. There were four massive stone fireplaces along each wall. Eight in all. That was probably an attempt to warm the place, as well as provide light. He wondered if they burned wood. And from where would they get it? The waste was incalculable. It was beyond wasteful. Those fireplaces probably didn’t even work well. Neal couldn’t imagine how dark and cold this place was at night. He could guess.
But...wait. Wasn’t Benjamin Franklin around doing the kite and key and lightning experiment about now? Hmm . Electricity was a viable stock option. If Neal lived long enough to see it offered. Or maybe he could manage to jumpstart that industry, too. He had another item for his portfolio.
He really needed to get this written down!
Neal moved his attention to the staircase gracing the back wall. It had been constructed using more of the dark stones. There were two lengths of steps rising in tandem along the side walls. They curved inward, and met at a large landing that looked capable of holding members of an entire board of any of his companies. It was well above the floor. Ten feet or so beneath the lowest display of swords.
Those must be a pain in the ass to dust.
He’d smiled at the instant thought. Then realized, the estate must have an army of employees. He wondered what that must cost. In 1803 terms.
And then he ignored it.
Who cared?
He had larger plans.
There was a shadowy space beneath the landing. Neal could just make out a set of doors. Massive, carved wooden affairs, containing long handles fashioned of antlers. The entire room was medieval. Masculine-themed. The ladies of the house must not have exercised much influence. But, that might have been normal for the area and time period. What did he know?
One door opened.
And Garrick Straith walked into the room.
Neal didn’t need to ask the fellow’s identity. He just knew. His steward had dark hair. It was pulled back into a pony-tail, exactly like the one Neal sported. Garrick was fit. Not unattractive. Save for the dark beard he wore, Garrick was close to Neal in size and appearance. He rapidly closed the distance between them, his strides making a thumping sound that turned into a mass of noise resembling a band of drummers without much rhythm. Garrick had been pretty damned impressive as he’d neared, his kilt flapping along his thighs. Neal got a sensation of something malevolent. That was highly
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