The euphoria that was to accompany the first drink didn't hit Callahan like it was supposed to on a general drinker. It did nothing to enhance his senses, didn't alter the chemistry of his brain. He wondered if the cravings the others had talked about would come later, or it would be tempered like everything else in his body.
Alcohols had never worked on him. Poisons were hardly ever deadly to him. It could be either because of the vigorous training he had gone through in the days of wars in Celesterra that had made him immune to it, or it could be his link to the Nether. Callahan knew the paltry drugs would never be able to take hold of his senses, but it would be a nice change to the mundane emptiness of his deteriorating soul. He wanted to feel it. He would even savour it.
Callahan leaned forward to pour another glass for himself. He chose a different bottle of ale this time around, more for palatable reasons than the adulteration.
'What do you want from me?' Duke Winslow spoke through gritted teeth.
'You know what I want,' he said, calmy. Callahan didn't look at him as the duke walked back to his chair. The ale being poured in the glass like a miniature waterfall was the only sound in the room while the duke fumed in anger and annoyance. He reminded him of Malcolm at that moment. Callahan scoffed as he picked up his glass. No wonder the two have gotten along so well.
'I shut down the old breweries on your command, Your Highness,' Duke Winslow said, the title and the respect seeming forced. 'The new ones are unadulterated as you wished for. The batches with the drugs are rare and when mixed with the usual stock, they're unidentifiable. When people buy the pure ones and feel no effect, they tend to buy more and more, until they land on the ones with the drug mixture. It had boosted our sales and taken down the casualty. There are less people being affected than before. It's an improvement. I don't see why Your Highness would still want me to shut down my business.'
Callahan took a sip of his ale, relished on the exquisite taste, and placed the glass back on the table. 'People are still dying.'
The duke scoffed. 'I never took you for the compassionate kind, Your Highness.'
Callahan sighed, saddened by short-sightedness. This was always the hard part: explaining his motives to others. It always felt like teaching a toddler to write alphabets.
'Every life has its worth, Winslow. The profits you speak about do not match them.'
'Sacrifices are inevitable when running such a business, Your Highness.'
'So they are, but only when the damage caused is worth the sacrifice. A soldier lost at war buys victory. A rebellion crushed buys a generation's loyalty. A dead peasant breeds nothing but rot. You have an excellent knowledge of trade, Winslow. You're still sitting here with me despite all your pitiful nonsense, do you not understand it was your worth as a merchant that bought you time?' Callahan pinned him with his gaze. 'But alas, you have overplayed your worth, and hence, overrun your time. And yet here I sit, giving you another chance to make amends, put your talents to better use. Because you see, I'm not doing it out of empathy. I'm doing it because a kingdom of corpses is just a fancy graveyard, and sitting on a throne made of bones is akin to ruling your own tomb.'
Duke Winslow took his time to ponder over the explanation, but when he opened his mouth to answer, Callahan had to force himself not to roll his eyes at the chronic witlessness. 'I only manage my business and have no intention of playing politics, Your Highness. Do you think I do not understand that in the pretense of giving me an opportunity, you're only planning to put me on trial in front of the king, if I refuse to do your bidding?'
Callahan stayed silent. He had wasted enough words on an imbecile who does not understand his own predicament. People who never learn to read between the lines often miss the essence of the story. Duke Winslow was no different.
'You drank the ale to play the victim,' the duke continued. Callahan focused on the drink. 'You brought that apothecary to be your witness. I may be stepping out of line here, Your Highness, but I must disappoint you by letting you know that there never would be a trial for me. King Malcolm understands what it takes to run a business. He's on my side.'
Duke Winslow stood up. He kept talking as he walked towards the door. 'You're not the only one equipped with allies, Your Highness. His Majesty has been too kind to me, lending me his most elite soldiers for my safety and protection. I'm sure this conversation and your persuasions would reach his ears sooner or later as well. When it does, I hope you would have formed a better excuse than teaching a king how to rule his own kingdom.'
Callahan had been getting bored of the conversation, but he had to admit he was impressed by the duke's courage at last — even if it was borrowed from the crown. 'It's a shame we couldn't align our perspective, Winslow,' he said at last. 'But since you have already made your choice, there is hardly much I can do.'
Duke Winslow bowed, more because of protocol than of reverence. The seven guards King Malcolm had lent him, poured out of the rooms they had been waiting in and walked to his side. The duke stood up a little straighter; his chest swelled with pride. The prince sat alone, while the guards surrounding himself made the duke feel more important, more powerful. Perhaps that was why he risked saying more. The taste of power often emboldens one without wisdom.
'I say this as your uncle, setting aside our titles, Your Highness,' the duke said, taking a step back in an attempt to showcase the armed men surrounding him. 'Profits are what runs the economy. Once you reach my age, grow up enough to let go of your indulgences — your parties, the alcohols, and the women — you would understand that for leaders like us, mercy is nothing but a weakness. Sacrifices of human life are nothing but obstacles in the path of achieving something greater.'
A memory revived itself in Callahan's mind.
The former king lying on his chamber's floor, blood pooled around his lifeless corpse.
Malcolm bursting through the doors, followed by his personal guards.
The fear in his eyes as Callahan moved the bloodied sword to his brother's neck.
The witnessing guards falling to their knees in allegiance to their new ruler.
The moment was just a few years gone, but it lingered like something ancient.
Mercy was indeed a weakness, unless it was used as a leash disguised as grace.
Callahan smiled back, returning the duke's bow with a light tilt of his head. 'We finally see eye to eye on something. It brings me peace knowing you would understand me when the consequences unfold.'
Duke Winslow frowned, but walked away with his head held high when Callahan gestured for him to take his leave. The king's soldiers marched behind him, following him out of the inn. Once they were out of vision, Callahan let his shadow self untether itself from him and trace the darkness to the silhouette of the carriage waiting outside.
It watched in silence as the duke climbed onto the carriage, cursing him under his breath, then snapped at a guard to go fetch his duchess from the peasant's meddling. Back in the room, Callahan heard the footsteps of the apothecary approaching his room and poured himself another drink.
Her choice would decide everything that follows.