Chapter 10: Warmth

The afternoon sky was still gray, but for the first time in weeks, the howling wind did not bite straight through the bone.

Jack stood in the lower cellars of the castle, his cane resting firmly on the floor. Beside him stood Karen, holding a flickering oil lamp, and Giles, who looked confused and slightly impatient. They were standing in front of an iron-reinforced oak door that led to the old, unused sub-basements.

“I don’t understand, My Lord,” Giles said, his thick brow furrowed. “You asked me to bring the men to haul fuel. But this is the old root cellar. It’s been empty since your father’s time.”

“It was closed, Giles,” Jack corrected him, his voice calm and steady. “Not empty.”

Jack reached into his wool cloak and pulled out a large, rusted iron key he had salvaged from his writing desk. He slid it into the lock of the door and turned it. With a loud clank, the bolt gave way. Jack pushed the door open.

Karen raised her oil lamp, casting a warm yellow light into the dark room.

Giles stopped breathing.

Stacked neatly against the back wall of the cellar were over fifty bulging burlap sacks. Some of them were slightly open at the top, revealing the gleaming, glassy black rocks inside. The pile was massive, representing hundreds of hours of backbreaking labor. In reality, it was the result of a single morning of tireless, uninterrupted mining by Rusty, Dusty, and Bones, who had hauled it up through the connected crypt tunnels and quietly retreated just an hour prior.

“By the gods,” Giles whispered, taking a slow step into the room. He reached out with a trembling hand and picked up a lump of the dark rock. “This is… this is pure high-grade coal. There must be two tons of it here.”

“Where did this come from?” Karen gasped, her eyes wide as she looked from the sacks to Jack.

“The Frost-Grip family has always maintained a private, deep reserve for absolute emergencies,” Jack lied smoothly, keeping his expression entirely flat. “Sealed by my grandfather, kept secret to prevent it from being sold off during the lean years. I decided it is finally time to open the vault.”

Giles turned to look at the sickly young lord. The skepticism that usually lived in the big miner’s eyes completely melted away, replaced by a profound, overwhelming gratitude. He didn’t question how a sickly boy had dragged fifty heavy sacks to the front of the cellar. He didn’t care. He was holding life in his hands.

“You kept your word,” Giles said, his deep voice cracking slightly. He bowed his head, a gesture of genuine respect. “You saved us, Lord Jack.”

“Don’t thank me yet. The village is still freezing,” Jack said, tapping his cane against the stone. “Get your men, Giles. Load the sleds. I want a sack of coal delivered to every single hearth in the valley before the sun goes down.”

Within the hour, the castle courtyard was a flurry of frantic activity.

The villagers who had been preparing to flee into the frozen wilderness that morning were now weeping with joy as they loaded the sacks onto their wooden handcarts and sleds. Old Miller’s wife fell to her knees in the snow, clutching a piece of the black coal to her chest as if it were a lump of gold. The terror that had gripped the fief for weeks evaporated, replaced by the frantic energy of survival.

Jack watched from the courtyard steps, the cold air no longer bothering his lungs as much.

“Come inside, My Lord,” Karen urged, gently tugging at his sleeve. Her face was bright, a smile breaking through her usual anxious expression. “The men have already carried three sacks up to the Great Hall. I am going to light the main hearth.”

When Jack walked into the Great Hall, the transformation was already beginning.

For the first time all winter, the cavernous stone fireplace was roaring.

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The heat radiating from the hearth was magnificent. It pushed back the freezing air of the hall, creating a massive wave of warmth.

Jack hobbled over to his high-backed wooden chair, which had been moved closer to the fire. He sat down, closing his eyes as the intense heat washed over his face. The warmth seeped through his cloak, soaking into his stiff joints and easing the ache in his bones.

All around the hall, the sound of dripping water began to echo. The thick layers of frost that had covered the ancient family tapestries on the walls were melting, turning into small puddles on the floor. The castle was finally thawing out.

By early evening, the Great Hall was full.

Jack had invited the villagers who lived closest to the castle to share the evening meal. Karen, with the help of Old Miller’s wife and few more women from nearby households, had used the new fire to boil a massive iron cauldron of thick porridge made from the wheat and dried peas purchased from Merchant Gary.