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“Ow!” A pearl-sized drop of blood beaded up on my fingertip – my last remaining unbandaged fingertip so far—where the pin had pricked deep into the sensitive skin. “Aw, shit!”
“That’s the eighth time you’ve done that in the last hour.”
I glared at Alec while pressing another gauzy bandage to my newest injury. A round puddle of crimson spread across the white fabric, staining it as red as the fresh blood flowing beneath the gauze. The speaker in question was laying stretched out across my bed on his belly like a lazy tomcat, his eyes flickering with interest every time I stabbed myself while placing the pins in the speculated hemline of Milasy’s dress.
It’s been a long three weeks since we staggered in the door of the Femme Mystique. Time spent constantly sewing and embroidering both Milasy’s and Sharon’s gowns by night, attending to the constant stream of customers flowing in and out of the shop in search of the perfect dress for the change of seasons – more distantly the Gala—by day, while also caring for the feverish Alec who had rotated between conscious and unconscious states for those said weeks. When his fever broke last week, we began to breathe a little easier as he started eating and drinking regularly again – although we hadn’t anticipated the barrage of cutting remarks that would accompany his currently healing state.
“Ow!” I poked my thumb again when placing the last pin in the skirt. “I hate sewing!”
“If you hate it so much, why don’t you just stop?”
I twisted around on my knees to face him and placed my bleeding hands on my hips. “Because I don’t want too!”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want too. Why do you ask so many questions?”
“I just ask whatever is on my mind at the time, and you didn’t answer my question. “Because I don’t want too.” Is not an answer. I’ve done nothing but sit here and watch you and your mother for the last week. You can’t thread a needle without making yourself bleed. Your stitches are crooked and you’re so slow that I don’t know how you competed that yellow dress by yourself. Not to mention the steady stream of curses that fall from your lips worse than a drunken soldiers. It’s obvious that you hate this job, so why don’t you just quit? Your mother would understand, you know. She wants you to be happy.”
My jaw dropped open in disbelief. He picked up all that just from watching us? Was he some kind of psychic or just extremely talented at reading people?
“I’m not psychic,” He mumbled, supporting his head with one bent arm propped beneath his chin. “As long as you know how to look, most people are easy to read, and you’re one of the easiest to read that I’ve ever seen. Even if you don’t say what you’re thinking, I can tell by the expression on your face what you’re feeling.”
Okay... Now I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended. So, I go with offended. “So, Mr. Smarty Pants. If you’re so intelligent and intuitive, what am I thinking right now?” I shuffled forward on my knees till we’re eye to eye. Let’s see him read this!
“I would rather not perform a maneuver like that. It would be very painful for me and you would break your foot.”
“Oh, shut up!” I snapped. Standing up, I walked behind him and started pulling the bandages aside to check his healing wounds – Alec has been going shirtless lately since he regained consciousness, although the bandages cover up all the nice muscular bits of his figure, I’m not complaining about the view—With the diseased flesh removed and the poison finally having run its course through his system, two jagged reddish-pink lines about six inches long and as wide as my pinky are all that remain of the horrible arrow wounds to his shoulders. The gashes on his ribs are the same way, healed up to four small fleshy reddish-pink lines smaller than a needle. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen his day to day progress myself. Incredible healing skills must be another one of his special talents. Really, I don’t know why but Mama wants him to keep still and keep wearing the bandages, even though he has obviously healed up just fine from the experience.
“How do I look?” His head twists around to look at my face. The loose tips of his silky blonde hair brushes against my fingers with his movement while I push the bandages around his shoulders back in place.
“You look fine,” I stand up, smacking my hand against his lower back for emphasis and he doesn’t even flinch at the movement. “Fit and ready to return back to wherever your home is.”
“Is that any way to talk to the hero who saved your life twice?” Alec said as he stood up too, blocking my escape out the door by casually leaning against the door frame with one arm above his head. His bland tone undermines the playfulness of his words, but there is a certain sparkle in his eyes. I think he is actually trying to tease me.
I smile but I don’t let it reach my eyes. “If all heroes are as arrogant and as nosy as you are, then it’s a miracle there are any left at all. Now, excuse me. I have work to be done.” I tried to push past, but it was pushing against a solid wall. You can’t do anything about it.
“Now I’m really wondering what kind of secrets you’re keeping? Is Mrs. Leona really your mother, or is she your warden because you’re one of those secret serial killers types who sneaks out at night and slits the throat of some innocent old person?” His head tilted to the side, kinda cute like a puppy would when it hears something new and interesting.
“Kyri! Can you come down here please! And bring the dress with you!” Mama’s well-mannered call comes from below in the shop.
“I’ll be right down!” I yelled back. Milasy and Sharon must be here for their final fittings. Carefully removing the gown from the dressmaker’s dummy, I draped it over my arm and turned back to where Alec was still staring at me expectantly. He seriously wasn’t expecting me to dish out all the gory details of my life while Mama is down there holding the ravenous she-bitches at bay is he? I shifted my eyes downward from his face, it looked like there is just enough room that I could squeeze between his upraised arm and the wall.
His eyes narrowed into small emerald slits. He knows I’m up to something. So, I feinted left and charged right when he moved to block my first false charge, easily slipping past him with the dress partially raised above my head. Alec’s momentum carried him on forward, sending him sprawling across the floor with a solid thump. “Hey! No fair to the injured!” He called at my back, rubbing his fingers over the side of his head where it smacked against the floor.
“Shush!” I pressed a finger to my lips and winked, a sly smile curling the edges of my lips. “Be quiet for now and I’ll tell you about my secret life later. I promise.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say.” He sighed, very loudly in fact, but I don’t think they could hear him downstairs. I know he heard me giggle as I started down the steps but I couldn’t help it. Except for the few times I’ve seen him smile, Alec’s face is devoid of any expression and it only serves to enhance the effects of his dry cutting humor. It’s not that having a guest is against the law – one of the few things that isn’t yet – and we have let him poke around in the shop on the slower days – the older ladies absolutely adored him with his curls – but with his consistent barrage of dry humor mixed with Milasy’s high strung personality, the results would be perilously explosive to witness.
“Just where is Mouse with my dress? Some of us actually have a schedule to keep, you know! We all just can’t piddle around in a shop all day pretending to sew a few scraps of fabric together!” Well... judging from the fact that I had a burning desire to remove a pin from the gown and shove it through my ears just so I wouldn’t have to hear that grating voice again, Milasy and probably Sharon – because one never goes without the other – have arrived for their fitting. I really don’t want to do this. I’m tired, my eyes are blurry, and I’m sore from crouching over those dresses. I’m not in the mood to hear Miss I-have-so-much-money-that-it’s-rolling-out-my-ass make all her snarky little remarks about how dysfunctional the commoners are, and how we need our life to be improved by the almighty influence of the magistrates.
Even with her voice steadily rising in pitch, I didn’t hurry. I kept slowly walking down the steps as if I didn’t have a care in the world before stepping out into the showroom. Milasy’s blonde head quickly swiveled around on her thin neck much like the owl’s I saw in the forest, except her movement looked more like the actions of a human-shaped demon rather than a natural feature of a bird.
“Finally! I was beginning to think that I would have to climb those stairs myself and drag you and that gown down by the hair on your head!” Milasy sneered, her glacial blue eyes glittering like chips of the bluest ice with her mean-tempered fury. The curly red hair of Sharon peeped around Milasy’s bony shoulder like an overgrown bush, enthusiastically calling a “Yeah!” every three words.
I bowed my head as is the custom and held the shimmering turquoise dress out for Milasy’s approval. “I do apologize for my tardiness, but I have been specially preparing your gown for you. I hope it meets your high standards.” What I really wanted to say was curl up and die like the worm you are, but that would cause more trouble than it’s worth. Milasy stalks forward, the draping bell sleeves of her pale pink gown flying like wings with her movement. She doesn’t take the gown, instead she chooses to stand there with her hands on her nonexistent hips, her face creased into a puffy frown.
“Well... I guess it will have to do.” She drawls out after a few minutes of silent inspection. “Come on! Let’s get this fitting over with!” Gesturing over her shoulder for Sharon to follow her, she flounced off to the back room with her gauzy skirt fluttering around her legs. The shorter Sharon had to gather up her long skirts in her fists to match Milasy’s speedy pace, her feet clomping nosily against the floor in her haste. I glanced at Mama and she merely rolled her blue eyes. She lifted Sharon’s amethyst gown from the display hook on the wall behind the counter where we followed the girls to the back room and closed the door.
If there was one word to describe the two hour final fitting process, it was an ordeal. Sharon was constantly wiggling and giggling, saying that we were tickling her every time we moved a pin around the waist, hem, and neckline, and made it nearly impossible to construct clear lines to sew the final alterations by. She was a blessing compared to her sister who did nothing but complain the entire time. The room was too stuffy, she was “glistening”. Sharon was hogging too much time, she had an appointment to have her hair done and she couldn’t miss it. We were poking her with the pin, bruising her delicate feet with our clumsy steps, and that she was so tired from walking all over Lentiqua in search of the perfect accessories to match her dress for the Gala. For a brief second, I considered using her as an acupuncture practice doll – or maybe its voodoo where you stick the pins into someone you want to stop. Either way works, I guess. Unfortunately, my magic was not so quick to dismiss as my thoughts were, becoming a constant wild feeling that threatened to break loose and attack the sisters at any moment. That was where the majority of my strength went, trying to keep the eagerly reaching light under control without accidently shocking either of the complaining duo.
Once we had somewhat determined that the measurements of the dresses were basically accurate, the she-demons hopped on their brooms and blew out the door, chattering about their upcoming visit to Old Frederic the Cobbler for their specially crafted high heels – tell me again why you would want to spend the entire evening of the longest party of the year in five-inch stilettos is beyond me. I don’t like pain that well. Despite the interruptions, none of the original measurements had changed. So, a few more quick seams, a final press, and the gowns would be ready for delivery.
“Hand me that thread, darling, and I’ll have these whipped up in a jiffy.” I picked up the spool of thread Mama had pointed at and passed it to her. Clutching the two dresses by their wooden hangers and the spool, Mama sat down at the old treadle powered sewing machine, popped the thread on top of the spindle and through the eye of the needle, and got to work. The shining black metal gleamed in the light as the needle pumped up and down in time with her foot, feeding the shimmering fabrics through at an astonishingly fast pace.
There really wasn’t anything I could do now except sit and watch her sew the final seams in place, so I climbed up the stairs to our quarters above. A wide yawn spilt my jaw open so wide that the muscles of my jaw cracked a bit in protest. The final alterations would take almost an hour, perfect timing for a quick little nap to reenergize my overstressed muscles. My eyelids already felt like they had a twenty pound weight resting on each one, so dozing off to sleep in bed would be no problem at all. As I walked down the hallway to Mama’s bedroom, I noticed that the door to my room was swung wide open, revealing a huge lump of muscle sitting on my bed – still shirtless at that—and holding a slender novel with a cover of battered caramel colored suede in his right hand. My eyes widened and my throat dried out to the consistency of sandpaper. I knew that book all too well, for I had only seen it every day since I was 6 till my written thoughts filled the pages at 14 years old.
“HOW DARE YOU!” I scurried into my room and snatch the tattered little notebook from his hands. Alec doesn’t even have the grace to look apologetic or guilty, his face creased into that same mild expression as always. “YOU don’t have the right to touch my personal items!” I clutch the diary to my chest with both arms. My most personal private thoughts, now violated by the presence of a snooper! “What were you even doing prowling through my closet anyway?”
Alec stood up and jammed his hands deep into the pocket of his grey pants. “I thought I saw a rat run into your closet and I figured that you might not appreciate your things being chewed up by a rodent. So, I searched through it till I found the mother rat curled up in an old grey scarf of yours. Inside the scarf was three small rat pups, all curled up together in a little pile.” The depths of his green eyes lightened with enthusiasm to a shockingly fluorescent shade of lime green. “You should have seen them, Kyri. They were so small that their ears and eyes were still closed, but their tiny ash-colored bodies had the softest covering of downy bluish-grey fluff. They felt like little squirming bundles of velvet in my hands.”
Ew! “You actually touched them? You know they carry diseases like the plague.” I didn’t even bother hiding my revulsion. Anybody who would touch a rat—especially the vermin-ridden ones that lived in this walls—had to be crazy.
“Actually, Kyri, that fact is incorrect.” He waggled a long finger in my face. “The actual carrier of diseases like the plague are the fleas that travel on the body of the rat. When the flea is infected by the plague bacteria, it transfers the disease to the rat. The now infected rats travel to densely populated human areas and the infected fleas travel on to the next most populous animal and their new host, humans. Thus, the humans are both bit and poisoned with the plague, the infected rat leaves behind their infected droppings where the humans can breathe in the bacteria, or die in close quarters to humans where someone like you would have to dispose of the infected remains and unknowingly become infected as well.
Well... isn’t he just full of all kinds of fun facts. “So, what did you do with the innocent little transporters of the fleas that carry the plague?” I asked, suppressing the burning need to roll my eyes.
This time his face lit up in a boyish grin. “If you didn’t hear me, then I haven’t lost my touch since I’ve been down. While you and Mrs. Dekote were busy with your customers, I tucked the mother rat and her babies into the pocket of my pants, snuck down the stairs, out the front door, and traveled across the street to the alley behind Mrs. Blackwell’s shop and turned them loose.” Alec chuckled heartily, a deep rumbling sound like thunder rolling across a valley. “They should find plenty to eat in her storeroom and live nice, long, happy rat lives.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth and giggled. When snotty Mrs. Blackwell finds out that there is a family of rats living in her storeroom, we’ll be able to hear her screams and big stomping feet like horse hooves all the way over here. Heck, they’ll probably be able to hear her all the way to the royal palace. I didn’t feel quite so angry at him now, but there was still no excuse for him reading my private thoughts just because he found my diary. I know I hadn’t touched in years but still, he shouldn’t have done it.
“So what was your excuse for reading my diary? One of the baby rats wanted a bedtime story?” I asked, scowling in mock seriousness but I think he knew I was joking.
“Oh, that. It fell out when I was moving all your stuff back inside the closet.” He paused and arched an eyebrow in question. “You seriously have a bow and arrow and a sword hidden in your closet. Why didn’t you take it with you when you were in the forest? You could have easily defended yourself from the Bloodwrath instead of lying on the ground like an overcooked sausage.”
I looked in the direction of his gaze, normally hidden deep within the depths of my closest, the dented sword in its black scabbard leaning against the wall and the bow worn smooth by countless draws now stood visible for all to see. “Those weapons were my father’s, I only use them for training and nothing else.”
Something like recognition dawned in his eyes as he comprehended the connection. “Training? As in how you wanted to be as soldier like your dad? The same one who died when you were four?” Alec pointed to the diary I held clutched against my chest and I nodded. A deep well of sadness springing a leak behind the dam of emotions I’ve had in place for so long. One of the last memories I have of him is when he was teaching me how to use the bow and arrow. Even being so little, I was a surprisingly accurate shot, striking the bulls-eye every single time. That skill has only improved now with time, plus I’ve added training with the sword and with my dagger into my arsenal of skills.
“I’m going to be a soldier. The best the kingdom has ever seen and here is no doubt about that.” I swore under my breath.
“Even though they don’t accept females? What about your magic as well? Will they disregard that in favor of your family name?” His eyes bored into mine with intense scrutiny, waiting for the answer I didn’t have.
“I don’t know how!” I groaned, my hand snaking through my hair which only made the limp strands stand up like a roosters comb. “I guess I’ll just have to keep it hidden. That means you can’t tell anyone you know that I have magic or they’ll come for me!”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” He seemed to be about to say something else, but he broke off into silence instead. There was something about the guilty flicker of his eyes, the downturned corners of his lips that dampened the lovely smile that had played across his features from earlier that made it feel like he was hiding something. “It’s a shame that you have to hide it though. From the way you described it, your magic sounds beautiful.”
“Not really, but thanks anyway.” I blushed, suddenly very thankful that my room was as dark as it was so that he couldn’t see the full expanse of my scarlet cheeks.
“Hey. Do you mind if I ask you one more thing?” His smile faltered even further bit like he was expecting me to refuse anyway.
“What it is?”
“What exactly happened to your dad, Kyri? I read the part where you and your mom were forced to move out of your house and that your family was ridiculed by the families of the magistrates. If your dad was such a highly esteemed Huntsman killed in the line of duty, your family should have been duly compensated like if he was a magistrate. Full honors, a generous pension, spacious mansion and all that stuff. You should have been set for life but instead you were forced to live and work here for your living.” He spread his arms wide to encompass the entire apartment and the store below.
I debated on how much to tell him, if there was a correct amount to tell him, but I blurted it all out anyway. “Well, it’s a bit of a long story. My father had been one of King Nikos best hunters, a squad huntsman for twenty years till he was promoted to the lead huntsman for five years, before he was killed while protecting the king from a rogue werewolf they were hunting. At least, that’s what they told us was the official reason for his death. There was layers and layers of clawmarks across his body but they only disguised the killing blow. A single stab wound to the back that severed his spine, not a usual method of attack favored by werewolves to kill their prey. The details of his death were quickly hushed up though, about as quickly as the funeral they performed before they shoved him into the ground. The sun had barely rose on the very next day following the funeral when a squad of the army’s soldiers was knocking on our door, forcing us to pack up our belongings while they lorded over us like looming vultures. The new lead huntsman’s was eager to occupy his sparkling new home the next day with no allowance for the grief we were currently experiencing. To add a salted insult to the freshly bleeding injury, King Nikos offered us a minuscule pension since my father was in service to the king for so long, it wasn’t enough to buy food for a week or pay rent on the shabby apartment we rented but my mother accepted his offer with the graciousness of a queen, her head held high and shoulder pulled back proudly. I thought she look so strong and regal, even over the muted whispers that rolled through the crowds behind our backs. We never found out the secret to his death but Mama thinks that Dad saw something he wasn’t supposed to and he was killed for it. Whatever the truth, it’s something that’s only known to the King and his circle of magistrates. That’s about it, I think. We’ve been here ever since, sewing gowns for the rich while they insult us to our faces.”
Alec’s smile had returned to his peculiar blankness as he mulled over the information in his mind.“That theory seems quite plausible actually, but the questions that remains is what did he see that would justify taking the life of another? Still, you shouldn’t let them threating you like that.”
“We can’t really do anything about it. We’re defined as commoners by law, and the ruling class can treat us any way they like.” I replied with a shrug. That was just the way things happened. If you were born into the ranks, you ruled. If you were born into the filth, that’s where you stayed.
Alec frowned, his blonde brows creasing into an almost perfect v. “But to belittle a person like that because their status is lower than yours is just despicable.”
The soft increasing thud of steps ascending the stairway captured our attention away from the conversation. The top of Mama’s black hair coming into view as she climbed upstairs. Carried in her hands were two square white boxes, each one bearing the scripted black logo of our shop stamped across the top. She paused at the top of the staircase with a weary sigh, shuffled the boxes to her opposite hand, and used her free hand to rub at an aching spot in her lower back. “I swear, these old bones are getting creakier and creakier every day. So, my little darlings, what have you been up to?”
“Oh, nothing much.” I chirped before Alec could open his big mouth. “Just talking about a book we’ve read.” He shot me a slightly confused look and crossed his arms over his chest. I don’t think he gets it that some people are a little emotionally sensitive to some subjects instead of just blurting out whatever is on their minds. “What’s in the boxes? The gowns for the Troll Twins?”
“Kyri, darling. Don’t be so rude. But yes, it is Milasy’s and Sharon’s gowns.” Mama scolded although I could see the sparkle of laughter in her tired eyes. “Would you be so kind and deliver these packages to the Ghro household for me?” She held the boxes out to me and I took them. The boxes being surprisingly heavy despite their slender width.
“Okay. Need anything else while I’m out?”
Mama tapped a finger against her chin and pursed her lips in thought. “No. I don’t think so. Just be careful, darling.” She kissed my cheek and patted my shoulder reassuringly with a stiff hand.
“Hey, Kyri! Wait up! I’ll go with you.” I had already started down the steps with the boxes tucked securely under my arms but I turned around at Alec’s words. What is it with him? Does he think I need a constant babysitter? With the stairs shaking under his steps, he came thundering down as ungainly as a four-year-old, his head tilted downward as he buttoned the threadbare long-sleeved grey shirt that he had produced from somewhere and slipped on – Mama had probably sent him after me if I had to guess, and probably gave him the shirt as well. He didn’t even even look at the steps beneath his feet but never missed a single one, clattering down to the bottom before turning around and sending one of his emotionless glances my way. “Are you coming or not?”
“Show off” I huffed under my breath. We exited out the front door and—with a little wave to Mrs. Blackwell who was pretending to sweep off her store’s porch but is really watching for the latest subject of gossip – we set off for the gleaming capital of Melrose and the foreboding residence of the Magistrate Ghro. One of the two magistrates that supervises the activity of Lentiqua marketplace who then reports back to the king.
According to the official maps of Althea kingdom, the entire kingdom is fitted behind the walls like a giant square, but the way the land is sectioned off into the different regions is quite bizarre to say the least. On the top half of the square, the entire Lentiqua marketplace runs from the entire flank of the northern section from the east wall to the west wall. The bottom half of the square is divided equally between the Desrique farmlands in the east and the Mattior mining area in the west. Now, if you were to draw a line that bisects straight through Lentiqua and draw a line that runs straight through the boundary of Desrique and Mattior from the south wall, where these lines intersect is the exact center of the Althea and that’s where the location of Melrose is nestled like a tiny round jewel.
Although the walk to the Ghro household is comparatively short distance-wise to the trek across Lentiqua that I made merely a few weeks ago – an hour to walk by foot to the outskirts of Melrose is quite a bit shorter than my previous nighttime adventure – I’m actually glad that Alec demanded to come along with me. It gets lonely trudging through the city delivering packages by yourself – plus I was able to talk him into carrying the packages for most of the way. I played a little tour guide and showed him the meager sights along the way – mainly the candy shoppe that has the most flavorful cinnamon discs and the poor library that’s fallen into disrepair after King Nikos declared that all houses of knowledge were to only be located in Melrose and access granted to only a chosen few who had earned the right to access such institutions. It was depressing, but fun at the same time.
As the crushed gravel road from Lentiqua merged into the smoothly paved roads of Melrose, the surroundings gradually became neater in response. The buildings no longer hunched over like an old man with a broken back, they stood tall and proud as a soldier on dress parade. The individual booths were no longer packed cheek to cheek, but were individually spaced out to display their wares like a male peacock, all shiny new and dazzling in the bright sunlight. Brightly painted apartment buildings in cheerful colors of mint green, off white and pearl pink were scattered regularly amidst the shopping stalls – the upper class disliked having their frequently visited locations called “booths”. As we walked further into the city, the attire of the people milling through the streets changed as well, from the home-sewn and patched grey clothing people like me were used to wearing, changed into outfits of the same depressing shade of grey but bore more frills, embellishments, and ribbons as recognized by their higher status as servants to the underserving families of the magistrates and as servants to the castle and the King himself.
“That one looks like she’s trying to imitate a sheep.” Alec remarked dryly as we passed a maid wearing a long grey skirt with so many ruffled layers that it formed a three foot barrier on all sides. I couldn’t even see how she could walk in such a contraption, much less clean one of the elite’s houses. It must take a whole lot of balance, or something.
The maid in question harrumphed and shouted out a loud “Well, I never”. Her stubby little arms perched on what may have been the area of her hips but was much too hidden underneath the flourishing folds of her skirt. I slapped Alec on the arm but he didn’t even flinch – too intrigued with his glamourous surroundings to even notice my touch.
“What?” He glanced at me from the side of his eye.
“You can’t keep doing that here.” I mumbled through lightly clenched lips. Things have a way of reaching even the most unlikely ears around here.
“Do what? Say what’s on my mind?”
“Exactly! Commoners are expected to be quiet while serving. They can’t just be popping out with whatever is on their brain at the time.”
Alec paused and gave me a long, slow look. “I’ve always spoke whatever is on my mind. I haven’t stopped before, and I’m not going to stop now. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Try getting beheaded for disloyalty for the crown.” I replied while pointing towards the giant gleaming golden gate emblazed with the House of Ghro’s G initial branded in the center. Apparently, the piles of money your family accumulates from a magistrate’s position has no accounting for taste. Two soldiers stand guard on either side of the gate in a small patch of shade, the obsidian armor cloaking their entire bodies from face to foot, and a long silver handled pike held in either soldier’s left hand. “So, please. Please. Just be quiet for a little while. Don’t say anything at all as long as we’re here. You’ve got to promise!”
Alec huffed, raking his free hand through his loose strands of silvery blonde hair, but nodded in agreement. We walked up to the gate, two dusty kids calling on one of the most powerful – and corrupt – magistrates in the service of the king.
“Halt! No commoners allowed in Magistrate Ghro’s estate without permission.” The guard on the left boomed out like a cannon, slamming the butt of his pike into the ground each time he spoke to enunciate the impact of his words. The distinct urge of the magic rose up at my fingertips, the warm light tickling the edges of my fingers, but I pushed it down again. It wouldn’t reflect very well on our business if I submitted to the urge and lit the guards up like the morning sun just because they startled me.
“Ky-Kyri Dekote.” I attempted to clear my throat but it only made my voice high pitched enough that I could pass for the mouse that was my nickname – one very terrified mouse at that. “I have a package for Lady Milasy and Lady Sharon from The Femme Mystique.” Retrieving one of the packages from Alec, I flipped it over to reveal the ink stamped logo that was our brand. Both guards bent over and scrutinizing the boxes so long that my arms were burning from the strain to lift the heavy packages.
“Hmn... Well, Lady Milasy did order to expect a scrawny but tall mouse to visit the estate today. Although...” The black helmet swiveled to glare Alec who glared right back with bored indifference. “She didn’t mention anything about some blonde haired punk coming along.”
A quick flash of anger sharpened Alec’s golden-greenish eyes to daggers so keen they could skin the guard to mere bone in seconds – I could only imagine how sharp that remark made his tongue. He started to speak, but I quickly snatched his hand in mine and squeezed as hard as I could, adding in a little tingling shot of magic for good measure. “He’s our new delivery boy. I’m just showing him the routes.” I blurted out, pasting a big, friendly smile across my lips and trying to ignore the blush of pink that was currently searing my face worse than any open flame. Please don’t ask any more questions!
The guard snorted harshly, producing a sound much like a pig’s as he fetched a thick list from a hidden alcove in the gate. “Well, I guess you’re alright.” He drawled after a moment of flipping through the pages. “Your description matches what was listed here by Lady Milasy, and the size of your packages are in line with the specifications. Although we are going to search their contents for contraband. Just procedure, you understand.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” The words had scarcely hung in the air for a heartbeat before the guards had snatched the boxes from my hands, ripped off the pristine white lid of the box, and rumpled through the carefully packed white tissue paper that the dresses were wrapped in.
“Woowee, looks like those two are hard at work spending daddy’s money on more fancy party clothes.” The second guard sneered as he held up Sharon’s light purple gown. His armored gloves creasing wrinkles in the dainty silk fabric along with the shadows of a dark stain of unknown origin in the shape of his fingers. Alec squeezed my hand so hard that pain crackled through my creaking bones when the guards wadded the elegant gowns into a wrinkled mess before shoving it back into the boxes. I know what he was thinking, that the guards were just carelessly destroying a piece that we had worked so hard on, but there’s nothing we can do. All my life I’ve seen this happen, the upper class has everything and controls everyone, while the lower class is treated like dirt – worse than dirt actually. With their inspection finished, the guards pushed the packages in our hands, pressed a switch to open the gate, and motioned us on through with a lazy wave of his hand.
The gate swung shut with an ear-splitting screech of metal against metal contact, leaving us gazing around like a couple of wide-eyed kids on their first day at school. The crushed gravel road extended beyond the gate to encircle a large marble fountain bubbling with sparkling blue water situated in the center of the small courtyard. Triangle shaped topiaries planted along the entire length of the gravel formed a little fence separating the rough rock and the lush dark green grass that extended around the remaining visible perimeter of the mansion. The one thing that was so eerie was the absolute silence that enveloped the yard, a silence so quiet that it usually accompanied the dead. There should have been birds singing and squirrels playing, yet there was none. Not even a single small ant tolling about its duties could be seen. The entire area strangely quiet and dull like a graveyard on a somber winter’s night.
Taking a minute to stop and refold the crinkled gowns as best we could, we walked up to the house with slow, careful steps. The gravel crunched softly under our feet, sounding as loud as a cannon’s blast in the deathly calm hush that enveloped us, as did the creak of the wooden porch floor when we stepped onto the white painted surface. The only spot of color against the white flooring and white walls of the house was the front door painted a shade of inky black darker than a moonless night itself.
We glanced at each other uneasily, neither of us eager to face the possibilities of this encounter, but I straightened my shoulders and raised my knuckles to knock at the door when it suddenly swung open, revealing a pair of glasses so round and thick that the watery brown eyes behind them were magnified to owlish proportions. The overly large orbs flickered back and forth between us, the owner of the oversized eyes sucking on her gums with a nosy smack as she considered the strangers standing on her porch, the position of her mouth enhancing the deep set wrinkles in her chocolatey brown skin. A crown of greyish curls provided the support for the frilly grey hat to stay perched atop her head, and the long grey apron tied about her waist brushed along the very tops of her shoes. After considering her silent inspection of us, her wrinkled face creased into a beaming smile full of the most beautifully straight, pearly-white teeth I’ve ever seen.
“Hello there, dearies.” She smiled, her voice high and reedy as a songbird’s. “Based on those boxes in your hands, you must be Leona’s daughter and her friend come to deliver the gowns for Milasy and Sharon. The polite quiet one. Come in and sit down, please. I’m Martha. The head housekeeper of this estate.” She stepped forward, grabbing both mine and Alec’s arms in each of her fragile skeletal hands, and hauled us inside with a fierce strength that belayed her tiny form.
“Yes ma’am. That’s correct,” I said, struggling not to lose my footing and fall on the slick polished oak floors still gleaming with a fresh coating of wax.
Martha slammed the huge door shut and turned towards us with her large eyes atwinkle with friendly humor. “And I see you brought your young fellow with you to carry the packages. Great idea! Work ‘em to exhaustion so they don’t have the energy to roam, I always say.” She winked as she took the packages from us and placed them on a wooden table off to the side. Alec – now relieved of duty and completely oblivious to the conversation – ambled off to investigate an elaborately painted vase in shades of emerald and burgundy perched on a pedestal.
“I- He- We’re not together,” I sputtered, waggling my finger back and forth between myself and the idiot poking a priceless antique with his pointer finger. My cheeks were burning, so I’m sure they were is red as a raging fire itself. How could she even think that we were together? We certainly had nothing in common, that’s for sure.”
“Don’t be so sure about that. I know what I’m talking about when it’s comes to these things, you know. Like I tell my granddaughter Mellisandra, sometimes it’s the quiet ones you need to watch out for because they can be the most surprising of all.” Those gleaming eyes narrowed and she fiddled with her glasses a bit. The slight head bob adding even more to her owlish appearance as she focused on my face. “In fact, you look about like my Mellisandra’s age. Do you know her? She might have went to school with you. Long ringlet curled hair the color of-“
“MARTHA! HAVE THE SERVANTS COME CLOSE MY WINDOWS! THAT AWFUL STENCH IS MAKING ME SICK!” Milasy’s scream was unmistakable, not even tempered in the least by all the walls between her and ourselves. Somewhere from the depths of the mansion, a few parrots started squawking and two grey clad maids scurried to do their lady’s bidding.
“Well, duty calls,” Martha sighed. “I wish we could talk longer but I have to go. I trust that you can show yourselves out?”
I nodded and she trotted away to supervise the activity, her shoes clicking sharply against the floor, her tiny figure resembling a general going to war as she marched off in search of her mistress. Looking around, I spotted Alec now inspecting a large round table of shiny sweet maple topped with coral pink marble. “Come on.” I stalked over and linked my arm through his, ignoring his protests that he wanted to study the antiques further while I propelled him towards our exit from this lair of wasteful luxury. Unfortunately, I was totally unprepared for the sight that loomed behind the door, clouds of black smoke filled the sky till the sun was totally obscured behind the inky fog. Vivid orange and red flames lunged towards the sky with long grappling fingers, the inferno engulfing everything in its path.
Lentiqua was on fire.