Hi folks! Sorry for the delay on this one. Came down with a wicked migraine yesterday. Here’s the latest:
New to the story? Read Chapter 1 here!
Content warning: surprisingly, this one is all right.
Chapter 13
“Maybe,” it says. “Which House are you?”
“They say we’re part of House Kilcharni.” The boy sounds both scared and excited. “But we didn’t know that until last night. It is true? Are we family?”
“I’m a servant.” It wonders how far many generations they are from Kilcharni they are that the other Houses didn’t kill them. “Not a member of the House.”
The boy’s eyes go wide. “We have servants?”
“Only one,” It corrects. “For right now.”
“Are we rich?” Excitement fills the child’s voice. “Do we have a manor?”
It should say no, but it doesn’t want to take away the child’ hope, so it says, “Yes, but it needs repairs.”
“Oh.” The child looks at its feet, then asks in a whisper, “Why didn’t they come for us before?”
Because you are the children of bastards. Because you are an embarrassment and a source of shame. Because you weren’t needed until now.
“I don’t know,” it lies. It goes back to Kileiteria. “What next?”
“We gather the contracts and bring them here,” she says. “Take the carriage and two Deaths for escort.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“No more than you trust me.”
Which is true. “What year were the contracts signed?”
“The summer solstice, two-hundred fifty-six years ago,” Kileiteria says, and heads for the stairs. It nods and follows the woman back up to the waiting carriage. For an hour they ride through the streets. It feels the clohalc wearing off and its aches and pains returning. It takes another clohalc ball and by the time they reach the Kilcharni manor, the pain is gone.
It walks to the door, the Deaths following. It stops, turns, and says, “Go back to your House. I’ll come with the contract when I find it.”
“It will be faster with our help,” says the second Death. She steps closer, trying to force it over the threshold, and stops as the tip of its dagger pierces her shirt and pokes into her flesh.
“My House,” it repeats. “You go inside, you die.”
“You don’t have a House,” the woman’s waved arm takes in the ruin. “There’s no one left here.”
“I am left here,” it hisses. “And I’m cursed to kill anyone who enters without permission. So go tell House Flecina that I will return when I find the contract.”
It slams the door, throws the bolt shut and leans back against it, wondering if the Deaths are going to try to get in the through the broken windows. It hears low conversation, then the sound of footsteps on the paving stones, and the carriage rolling away. The throbbing fire fades, leaving only the pain telling it to avenge Talint.
Fuck you, too. It tells the curse, and heads down to the deep basement.
Kileiteria is right about the records, at least. While the Dirarch’s office held the most recent, the House knew better than to keep their papers in one place. And so they built another room next to the treasury, and lined its walls with bronze to stop the rats from chewing their way in. Inside sit boxes of scrolls, shelves of books, and ribbon-wrapped bundles of letters in sealed chests, organized by date. It should be easy to find the contract.
But the contract isn’t there.
It goes through the papers from two hundred fifty-six years ago a second time, then checks the records on either side. It finds contracts for goods to move, for wool bought and sold, for cattle sales and gemstones. It see records of men and women who borrowed money against their lives, and notes of which were enslaved when they failed to pay it back. But it nowhere is there a contract with a demon.
It starts again, this time looking at every book, piece of paper and vellum scroll in the room. It piles the papers on the floor and checks behind them. When it finds none, it pulls the shelves away from the walls and checks top to bottom. When it’s certain nothing is on, under, or behind any of them, it clears the floor and searches there, too.
It collapses in the middle of the room, head in its hands, stomach growling and chest burning. A flood of panic tries to rise inside it. It needs food, it realizes, and sleep, and time to think. But the other Houses are waiting, and it does not know for how long. The record must exist. It must be in the house. It’s too important.
So where the fuck is it?
It locks everything behind it, goes up to the kitchen. Evening has come again and Young Celil’s shade is staring at the missing table and asking please, please can he have something to eat before dinner? It walks through him and up to the main floor. Kalinia is still in her seat in the parlour, hands gripping the arms of the chair she burned in. Anilia skipping across the tiles upstairs, and the Dirarch weeps in the library. Their faint voices grate against its ears. It wants to yell at them to shut up, but they cannot hear or respond. It paces the length of the hallway, pushing on the brand on its chest, as if the pressure will ease the pain.
At the end, it looks out the back door at its master’s shade in the yard, weapons out, glaring at those who killed him. It sees Silinie, backed up against the tree, mouth open in a terrified scream that is barely audible. Her eyes grow wide and her head shakes as she pleads for her life. Then someone unseen pulls her legs out from under and she vanishes before she lands on the ground.
It turns away so it doesn’t have to watch her die again, and and paces the length of the hall once more.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck think fuck fuck fuck think fuck THINK! It stops outside the library, where the Dirarch’s ghost leans against the wall, tears running down his face, reaching for a book that isn’t there anymore. It stops, staring at him.
What if he isn’t reaching for a book? What if its the contract? Or maybe where the contract is hidden?
It walks toward the Dirarch, ignoring his calls for help, and watched the ghost scrabbling at the burnt-out bookshelf. It runs its hand over the charred wood and stone, feeling for a place that registers differently under its fingertips. It finds a small square of metal that it hadn’t known existed. The plate gives a little, so it pushes hard.
Something clicks, and the wall swings out toward it.
Click here to read Chapter 14!
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