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A LAST TEA
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AS THE CLOCK MARKED ten to three, Ms Short hobbled up the stairs, balancing a tray of coffee and glasses for rum. Though Hyrum was an avid believer in teatime, as any self-respecting person would be, this particular request bothered her.
It had been quite some time since he’d received company, and on the days when he did, she was always forewarned about the type of company, their albeit peculiar tastes, and how and when she would greet them. Today’s request came shrouded in the kind of secrecy that ate at her nerves and would force her to listen at the door of the study. She entered the study quietly in case Hyrum was working.
The early afternoon sun sauntered through the large windows, casting shadows over everything in the room. He gazed out of it looking more forlorn than usual. The light seemed to highlight the many marks that time had traced on his face. He seemed much older now, though his appearance remained the same, as if he’d lost his fighter’s spirit. Time moves slowly for some people, she thought.
“Yes, it does,” he said. “Thank you, Liz.”
The comment was lost on her. If she wasn’t so worried about him, she might have asked herself if he had read her mind. Possibly even wondered how many times that had happened before. But the sound of his voice and the distance in his eyes troubled her. This was not the Hyrum she knew.
“Will you be wanting anything else, sir?” she asked.
“No, no. That’s quite alright.” He waved his hand carelessly in the air. “It’s such a nice day... I’d go for a stroll if I were you. Shame to be stuck in the house on a day like this.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, wondering what had changed his mood so entirely from this morning. “Maybe you’d like to go for one later?”
“I’m afraid the town wouldn’t rest if I decided to walk.” He shot her a melancholy grin before returning his gaze to the window.
“As you wish,” she said, slipping out of the study and closing the door behind her. She’d entirely forgotten her plan to listen in at the door. She’d somehow even forgotten that Hyrum was to have company, simply thinking to act on the strange urge she now had to take a long stroll through the town. There was a beautiful porcelain teapot she’d been contemplating buying from one of the shops in the centre, and for some reason, today seemed like the day to do it.
Ms Short hobbled down the stairs again and stopped briefly to fluff up her hair in one of the mirrors. By the time the clock struck three, she was nearly out the door, until a sudden thud from the hall stopped her.
Company, she remembered, Hyrum is having company. How could I have forgotten? She doubled back towards the staircase only to find herself suddenly impaled, having walked straight into the blade of a sword. Confused and fading fast, she looked up into the most frightfully sad eyes she’d ever seen.
Death, she thought, is a curious thing. Of all the final thoughts to have, her last was utterly ridiculous. Old Hyrum was right. He’d outlived her. But she imagined that not for much longer.
She blinked slowly. The eyes were gone. The world around her was going. Fading into the blackness of a world she thought she knew, feeling everything so intimately, before feeling nothing at all.
Her lifeless body slid easily off the end of the sword and hit the ground with a thud. Her blood trickled down into the crevices of the hardwood floors, staining them darker than any polish could. That would have bothered her immensely to clean... if she were still around to do so.
