HeritageOn the morning of his new master's arrival, Fredrick Fennington shifted uneasily on his feet in the main hall, ready to stand at attention and bid him welcome. The man that arrived, however, was nothing like he expected. An agreeable enough fellow, to be sure, but certainly not the fine gentleman his ancestors had been--his attire fit the profile of a gypsy, alright.
"Thanks for all your hard work, chap! The place looks grand!" he enthused.
"Certainly, Master Hen--erm. Master Connor? Is that what I should call you?" Fredrick Fennington looked hard into this new man's face, trying to recall if he looked anything at all like the young Master Henry he remembered, but his eyes just weren't what they were in his younger days.
"Please, just Connor. I've been called Connor too many years to go changing it about now!"
"Of course, sir."
The new Master Connor lost no time getting acquainted with his new possessions. His first request was an accounting of all the property he now owned, followed by a tour of the estate. Fredrick Fennington obliged.
From the kitchen
to the diningroom,
the master suit,
and the party room--Master Connor wanted to see it all.
It was a very large house and, by the time they made it all the way down to the basement, it was getting late and Fredrick Fennington was getting tired. Coming to the final room of the estate, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
"And this, Master Connor, is the mausoleum, where the remains of your Dojo ancestors have slept for countless generations."
Connor stopped cold in his tracks. "You mean . . . g-g-ghosts?"
Apparently, the new master was a bit of coward.
"Remove them, at once!" he demanded.
"But sir!" Fredrick Fennington protested. "The spirits of your ancestors must be eager to meet you--to learn that you survived. Why, even your dear father and mother's urns are housed in this very vault."
"Well
I don't care to meet
them," he insisted. "Lock them all up in that chest over there and send it out of here! They can wallow in the common graveyard with the rest of the lot. The last thing I need is a bunch of nasty old spirits puttering about the place! Do it, and then see yourself out, as well. I have no further need of your services!"
For a moment, Fredrick Fennington was frozen in shock. Fired? He was . . . fired? And why should Master Connor wish to be rid of his ancestors? The weight of these questions forced the unbearable truth to the surface: the real Master Henry Dojo could never be so heartless about his ancestors. Yet having once accepted this Connor O'Reiley into the household as master, who would believe a disgruntled old manservant, newly released from his duties?
So Fredrick Fennington hatched a plan: a plan that would give the Dojos one final chance to reclaim their heritage.
He did as he was bid and placed the urns in the chest to be shipped off to the common graveyard. But one urn, just one, he thought, might be able to hide away in a dusty old corner unnoticed. But whom should he pick? He thought for a moment, recounting the stories his father had told him of the various Dojos, before selecting one.
"Please!" he sobbed, feeling not-at-all-silly talking to the urn of a Dojo he'd never met--such was his loyalty to their family. "You're needed here once again. You must wake up!"
Fredrick Fennington packed his things and passed through the front doors of Bloodstone Manor for the last time.
Rain began to fall, but he didn't care. He smiled as he left.
It wasn't over. Not just yet, anyway.