by H. N. Klett
She followed the eddy of people to the vendor carts where she’d sat the day before. She looked around at the tables, half expecting to see Bishop Graver there watching her once again, but the tables were mostly empty. Nor did she see that boy. She was alone.
Just outside of the square, they lurched to a halt. The crowds seemed to pause around them. Hailey leaned out of the window to see what was going on.
“Cart overturned,” she overheard someone say. This was it. Should she want to get away, this would be her best and only chance.
Hailey took a hairpin out and worked the lock, and she thought with some regret that lock picking was what got her into this trouble in the first place. The door opened with a pop and she gingerly stepped down onto the cobblestones, careful to see if the emissary noticed. He was not on top of the carriage as he was before. He was at the overturned cart, trying to get people together to help right the large cart blocking their way. She stepped into the crowd, not sure what she was going to do.
Halfway between the docks and the colonial mansion, she was caught in indecision. Should she listen to the book and go to the docks and hop on the first ship out of port? Should she do the proper thing and go back to the carriage and attend the tea? Her grandmother wouldn’t have let her go alone if she didn’t think she was safe, would she? Was her life in as much danger going to the mansion as it would be taking her chances with the ghost pirates? Both decisions held such grim uncertainties that she didn’t know what to do. Neither direction looked like it would end well for her.
She looked down the lane to the market and the docks. The flowing river of people made her feel as though she was standing at the head of the waterfall. It gave her comfort watching the throngs of humanity dancing to and fro, swept up and carried along at a pace not of their making.
She stood on the edge of the crowd of people waiting for the cart to be moved. Looking around, she couldn’t see the emissary, but she did see the current of people flowing towards the docks and felt the slight pull of their wake. If she wanted to get to the colonial mansion, all she had to do was be still. Better yet, just get back into the carriage and wait. She scanned the crowd, hoping there was someone, something, to tell her what to do.
Hailey looked up the lane, past the overturned cart, and saw the towering colonial mansion, its impossibly white face with large dark windows like eyes watching her. It looked out of place. Something artificial in a world of green and living homes and shops. It was like no other building, made of a white stone not found anywhere on the island, making it look like a great steepled tooth breaking the surface of a small island. It stood as yet another reminder of the power of the Queen.
Inside were housed impossible magics that defied the mind. At night, the mansion seemed to glow of its own accord. Inside were mirrors that people could use to talk to each other in other lands. There were even metal men, like the horses, that moved around as servants. She had seen it all when she cleaned the mansion the day before. She dared not touch any of it, and she had done her best to clean around it. She had stumbled into the storeroom where the metal men stood, silently waiting, their dark eyes looking at her in unblinking sleep.
She was so engrossed in the memory that she jumped back startled as a man in front of her turned, cleared his throat, and looked at her. It was the young man she’d seen in the market, the one she’d come to think of as beautiful. He stood there motionless, his sand-colored eyes looking at her intensely.
“I wouldn’t go in there,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder towards the mansion. His voice was a bit deeper than she had expected. His accent was a little crude, but understandable. She couldn’t quite place it, but it sounded a little like someone from the western isles, like Iconen or one of the smaller isles that surrounded it.
She looked him over. He was taller than she remembered, but only slightly. He was probably around her age, or perhaps a little older. She didn’t notice much about most boys her age, but this one, this one was different. He stood out in her mind like a drop of color on an otherwise black and white canvas.
He stood there, arms folded, and she could see the knots of muscles in his forearms merging into chiseled biceps, which told her that he led a life of labor. His tan skin tone and longish hair told her it was a life at sea. Whoever he was, she didn’t mind looking at him at all.
He grew impatient standing there, and he moved towards her and unfolded his arms. “You are in danger. We must go.”
As he advanced, Hailey took a step back from him and put her arms up.
The young man stopped.
“Look, we don’t have much time, we need to go!”
He advanced again, and she took another step back. The boy then vanished into the crowd that swirled around them. She took a couple of quick steps forward. scanning the sea of faces, but none were familiar. Those eyes.
Behind her stood the red-coated emissary, wiping the sweat off his face with a handkerchief. Surprised to see her out of the carriage, he stepped to her.
“Time to go, ma’am.”
He motioned her back to the carriage, holding open the door, but she didn’t move. She had missed her chance to get away, lost in indecision, and when the help she’d hoped for arrived, she let it slip away.
She stood there for a long moment, looking at the gray crowd swirling down the now freed lanes and around the imposing white block that was the colonial mansion. She looked up into its dark windows bordered by blood red curtains and tried not to imagine the bishop standing there. Watching. Waiting.
She thought for a moment about turning and running, ditching the emissary in the crowds and making her way to the first ship she could find, but again her fate would be unknown. Worst of all, it would come back to her father and possibly even her grandmother. What would happen to them if she ran now?
She looked around one last time. Hailey hoped the young man would appear from the crowd again and stop her, but he did not. There was nothing to stop her from climbing back into the carriage, and the door closed behind her with a final sounding click. The carriage lurched forward and brought her up the streets and to the long carriage path to the front of the colonial mansion.
They stopped at the front stairs and the carriage door opened. Looking up the long flight of stairs to the mansion, a pair of guards began to pull open the massive iron front doors. Its dark entrance reminded Hailey of a gaping maw. She climbed the stairs alone, passed the guards, and let the building swallow her whole.
Chapter 11
Once her eyes adjusted to the dimness, Hailey was greeted by a silent servant at the doorway, who escorted her down the hallway. The lit orbs that ensconced the walls seemed to bleed their light into the dark, rich, red-and-gold wallpaper that adorned the walls.
From the shadows, the portraits of past Crown officials stood in silent watch along the hallway, watching her progression. Kings, queens, and bishops all eyed her as she warily made her way down the hall. The wigged and petticoated manservant plodded mindlessly down the hallway, never looking back at her. He turned the corner abruptly, expecting her to follow.
They stopped as the servant opened a great, dark wooden door with a flourish and stepped through. Hailey paused for a moment to take in the room. It was a grand ballroom, lightly colored in whites and linens and lined with windows looking out over the lawns. There were crystal chandeliers that hung low, their warm light brightening the room like sunlight. With the lush and long green carpeting underfoot, the room reminded Hailey of an outdoor garden party, though it was plain to see that they were indoors.
There were dozens of round tables, each one set with fine china and elegant silverware. In the center of each table was a small crystal vase holding fresh flowers. It was a beautiful scene, if not barren, for there was no one in the room save her and the servant who had advanced to a table at the other end of the ballroom.
Hailey strode to catch up, and when the servant mechanically pulled back her chair and stood there waiting to place he
r, Hailey froze. She remembered the face, and more importantly, the eyes. It was one of the mechanical servants she had stumbled across in the storeroom; their empty eyes had stared out at her from the dark and given her such a fright. This automaton didn’t look at her; it didn’t need to. It performed its function silently and efficiently, it’s dark, unblinking eyes staring mindlessly ahead, waiting for her to approach and be seated.
Looking around the empty room, Hailey wondered if she was too early for the party. She didn’t think she was. If anything, the traffic made her seem to be more than fashionably late, bordering on rude. There should have been at least a couple of people. Hailey had been subjected to several tea parties by her grandmother, and there were always at least a few people there early. And this was a high tea, with a bishop of the Church; she expected the room to be filled to the brim, not empty.
She thought of the book and the young man’s warnings. If this was some kind of trap, why would they go to all of this trouble? They could have just taken her at the door or even at her home that morning. Something wasn’t right.
The voice of her grandmother sounded in her head, telling her that she was being rude making the servant—even if it was a mechanical one—wait as she stood pondering. She hurried to catch up and join the automaton servant, who blankly stood waiting. Once seated, the servant wordlessly left her to the silence of the great room.
Hailey was startled when there was a crash and clang as the servant door opened and a teacart rattled towards her. Pushing the cart was a rather diminutive red-haired servant girl dressed in a formal black dress bordered in white lace. The cart was brimming full of items and crowned with a large and elaborate teapot.
Hailey tried unsuccessfully to catch the servant’s eye as she came up to the table. Hailey knew that decorum dictated that the servants were never to talk to the guests, but she hoped that she could at least get some kind of an answer out of her. Perhaps she’d been escorted into the wrong ballroom?
Hailey leaned over to her, trying to catch her attention.
“Excuse me, am I early?”
The servant ignored her and went about arranging the tray of goods. Her motions were almost as rigid and silent as the automaton’s. Hailey tried again to catch her eye, but she blankly focused on the task at hand. Once she was done she swiftly departed, going back through the hidden door she came out of.
Hailey sat there looking everything over. There was enough food on the tea tray to serve several dozen people. There was a tower of baked pastries, finger foods, various meats and cheeses, and jewel-like cookies topped with various fruit spreads. The small rolling feast was much more lavish than the simple finger food they had prepared for the party the night before and would have satisfied even the most ravenous of appetites.
Hailey was tempted to load up a plate full of sweets as dessert for her earlier breakfast, but the combination of the manners that her grandmother instilled in her and the looming dread of the event curtailed her sweet tooth for the moment.
Behind her, she heard the great wooden door that she had been led through earlier creak open, followed by the sounds of footsteps making their way up the carpet towards her. Her grandmother, a consummate proponent of decorum, had preached at her that a lady never turns around in her chair and waits until she is addressed to turn. Her father, a merchant and the veteran of many a tavern brawl, had taught her to never sit with her back to the door unless she couldn’t help it. She wished she had listened more to her father than her grandmother at that moment.
Hailey felt her back go more rigid as the footsteps came closer. The steps stopped right behind her and she fought the urge to turn, partly out of training and partly out of fear. Though the pause was only for a moment, it felt like an hour. Finally, two figures rounded the table and Hailey could see behind the metal servant strode the slim and gangly figure of Bishop Graver. The automaton pulled back the chair and sat Bishop Graver mechanically. Once done, it turned and promptly made its way to the servant’s door.
“Hello, Hailey, good of you to come!” He smiled broadly at her and bowed his head in greeting. She stuttered for a moment and thanked him for the invitation and bowed her head in return.
“Such delightful manners. Your grandmother has taught you well.” His smile didn’t fade.
Again she thanked him and blushed slightly. She thought to herself that if her grandmother were there to witness her decidedly less-than-delightful manners, she would have fainted dead on the floor.
Bishop Graver let his long stork-like body relax casually into the arms of the chair, an action which seemed to deflate the formality of the occasion quite a bit. Hailey let herself relax slightly, though she still watched him carefully.
He had changed from his attire the night before. He wore the dark purple long coat and the epaulets of the vestry, something Hailey had not expected. It was unusual enough for a Crown official, especially a male bachelor, to host a formal tea. That was something they usually left to subordinate female volunteers to host. Of course they would show up and make an appearance, but they would never stick around long enough to mingle with anyone. This man took the time to not only appear, but host and dress for the occasion. To Hailey it was an impressive sight. No matter how casual the man tried to be, his formal attire still gave the air of regality and make Hailey feel completely out of her depth.
Hailey eyed the bishop quietly as he reached his long slender arms over to the tea set. He motioned for her to give him her cup. Taking it, he filled the fine china cup with perfect balance and grace, not spilling a drop. At that moment, Hailey wasn’t sure her hands would have been so steady.
He flashed one of his wide grins at her that made her think of how a fish must feel when a shark circled. She watched him intently, as though he were going to leap across the table and bite her. Noting her reaction, the bishop reined in his smile slightly.
He offered her the milk and sugar, and Hailey took both, then he settled in to fix his own cup. Satisfied, he took a sip. Hailey looked at him, surprised.
“Won’t there be anyone else joining us?” she asked.
“No, I wanted this meeting to be between the two of us.”
She looked around the large room, then looked back at the bishop. Reading her look, he replied, “Yes, well, it wouldn’t be a formal tea without formal settings, would it?”
He leaned back slowly in his chair and looked at her from over his steaming cup for a long moment, then quickly sat forward and placed his tea on the table. Hailey reflexively sat back as if to give the tall figure more room or more distance across the table.
Noting her reaction, Bishop Graver reached over to the teacart and grabbed one of the small sugar cookies with a dollop of some kind of fruit on it. He broke the awkward silence that had been building in those few moments and gave her an inviting look.
“You simply must try these, they truly are delightful.”
He offered the plate of them to Hailey, who took a couple and placed them on her plate. Bishop Graver took a bite of his cookie and savored it.
“Mmmm, yes, delightful. I have to say, in all of my travels, this place has the best pastries. It’s the ingredients, you know. Fresh off the boat. It’s always better when things come to you instead of you going to it.” He contemplated his cookie again then glanced at her.
“You are quite the traveler yourself, aren’t you?”
Hailey was confused. She didn’t know what to say. He continued.
“I mean, you travel quite a bit with your father, don’t you? Port to port, traveling the globe, that kind of thing, right?”
Hailey sipped her tea and nodded.
“I’m sure you have tasted quite a bit of treats along the way. The fresh meats from Aibronne, the plentiful fish from Jakar, the exotic spices from Baron’s Bay…” He slumped back and sighed dramatically. “Ah, life at sea. Seeing so many places, trying new and different foods.” He looked at her directly and she felt the chill of his gaze. “Reading books from far
away places.”
Hailey tried her best not to blanch, but she felt color rising in her cheeks. He looked at her for a long moment.
“Yes-s-s,” he let the end of the word slide out like a snake. “You thought I had forgotten about our conversation at the party about reading. I can see how you would be surprised, especially since I spoke with so many other people that evening.”
He paused to sip his tea, then continued.
“But I do love a good story, don’t you?” He leaned forward, setting down the cup and looking at her with a predatory grin. “So tell me more about this primer you were reading the other day.”
She froze. Her brain screamed at her to say something, anything. Her father’s words from the party bubbled up in her mind and she felt her lips move.
“It belonged to my mother.”
“Ah, yes, that’s right.” He sat back in the chair, picking up a butter knife and looking at it. “Your mother. She died in that horrible incident on Cowl’s Ridge, am I right? Dreadful thing.” He began to scrape the butter knife across his thumb, looking at it, testing the edge.
“I can see how you are so sentimentally attached to it. Having been your mother’s.” He shifted in the chair and, while still playing with the knife, looked at her directly. “It’s just that, well, the Church has been putting those things out for decades. I’ve read quite a few different editions and, to be quite honest with you, they are rather” —he made a grasping motion in the air as though he was trying to snatch a word flying in front of him— “dry?” He said the word like a question, as though he wasn’t fully sure of the word.
He smiled at her and cocked his head as he leaned forward in his chair.