by OJ Lowe
Calling, she could understand on some certain level. At the very least, she could appreciate the bottom line. The company made plenty of the various bits of equipment sold to all those aspiring competitive callers around the world. Always a consistent market for it, even if they were getting cheaper every year. Soon, it’d cost more to make them than it would to sell them. But spirit dancing as a fad didn’t resonate. Suffice to say her daughter had practiced the art to some proficiency, she was sure it was to spite her, the selfish little bitch. Let it never be said her judgement wasn’t to be coloured. There had always seemed to be little point to it, more of an art form than something with any actual credibility. She’d always liked her art to be with purpose rather than something intended to be shallow and flashy in all the wrong ways.
It was over breakfast that she went over the rest of the daily news, her food sating her, satisfying her. Alphonse, her personal chef, could never be faulted. Nor should he be for the salary he was paid. He’d once owned a trio of restaurants in Serran, a renowned master chef until there’d been some unpleasantness. He’d never spoken about it, but she’d known the story. The tabloids could be so cruel, especially where food poisoning was concerned. Privately she was sure some of their colleagues had been eating there that night if the way they’d gone after him was anything to go by. If anything, it had benefited her. She’d studied the case, had decided that there really wasn’t anything Alphonse could have done about it. Wasn’t his fault, didn’t decry him down as any less of a food artist.
Either way, he’d done quite well out of the whole thing. Scandals didn’t stick too long. In another few years, he’d be gone, she knew that. He’d already told her as much. He wanted to open another restaurant down the line when everything was forgotten about and he’d been forgiven in the cruel circuits of the food world. Good on him, still having ambition. So many didn’t these days. Happy to coast along on the base of a wave and see where life took them. He could have continued to cook for her for the rest of their lives, pocketing the exorbitant amount of credits each month but no, it wasn’t enough for him.
She appreciated those who had direction in their life, she didn’t begrudge him, would probably help him with finance if he needed it. To know where you were going was tantamount to a feeling of content satisfaction in her book. Finishing her morning tea, she put the pad down and got up. The day’s work was about to start.
The morning memos were the usual stuff. Largely it consisted on checks on the various upcoming activities to be engaged in by the company, new lines to be released, promotions to be confirmed, an upcoming charity event and the imminent retirement of one of the board members. She finished them off, moved onto the correspondence of the day. For the first time in recent memory, she found her mind wandering off the task at hand. Maybe she hadn’t slept well. She didn’t feel overly tired. Or maybe the hour was almost at hand. A venture riskier than virtually anything undertaken since she’d become the head of Reims, one not entirely legal and certainly immoral on several levels.
She rested her elbows on the table and leaned her chin onto her hands, deep in thought. It wasn’t just the company at stake. More than that. She’d never considered that she could end up in jail. She’d never considered she might die. Should this fail, both were real possibilities. Distant ones but still there regardless. It was her entire future at stake here. And yet, didn’t that make the entire thing worth the risk alone. If you couldn’t fight for the future, then it wasn’t worth it.
She rose, pushed the daily workload away and strode out the dining room, wandering away down the L-shaped corridor, the carpet soft beneath her bare feet. The house was deserted. Alphonse was probably already away for the morning. He only came in for the morning and the evening. The cleaners weren’t due today. Her bodyguard wasn’t around for the time being. Bar the security outside, she was alone for now. Just the way she liked it.
Every three days they came and cleaned the house top to bottom, leaving no spot unturned… All bar the rooms she didn’t want them entering. She had her privacy after all. The room she entered now was one of those few rooms, coded to open to her thumb print alone.
The door slid open with a satisfactory swish and the lights swept on to greet her. Her secret room. She strode in, giving the covered stands around her a cursory glance. Years of chasing down her hobby had built up quite the collection over the years. Everyone has their kinks and she’d supposed that was certainly the case with this. Was it any stranger than collecting various other doodads that served no purpose? Was collecting religious paraphernalia or artefacts so strange? Doubtless those hearing about it might find something to smile about. Everything here was, as far as she knew, genuine and she’d had them authenticated to check. No chance of that not happening. Anyone who tried to swindle her over them found it a mistake sorely to be regretted. All these lost artefacts of a time far gone by. Some two dozen pieces, each treasured. Each for her eyes only. And the key among them, well the centrepiece, part of which happened to be a key.
A key and a giant tablet maybe a quarter of the size of her dining room table, both a mystery to everyone she’d had involved in the process of examination. And her wealth gave her access to quite some considerable expertise. The experts themselves were often a dull and dry people in keeping with most of the artefacts in their profession but still, a nice fat stack of credit would see them appraise what she had honestly and accurately. That they’d all come up empty with answers hadn’t deterred her. New discoveries were being made all the time. That knowledge was being circulated around them and only them. Sooner or later, one of them had to make a breakthrough. She’d let it be known to them that whoever did would find themselves in receipt of a substantial reward.
The key was a dirty rust colour, heavy beyond belief and with some incredibly sharp edges. Some of the stains on it were from her, the blood that she’d never cleaned off. It added character. She had the scar on her finger, she’d had a bunch of shots to ensure she didn’t pick up a disease and a further mystery to try and solve. The man she’d bought it from had claimed he’d found it long ago high up in the mountains up north in Serran. She remembered that day well. Not often you got that lucky.
Should a man that old really be working at this altitude? Not that the lodge looked to be actively employing him. Phillipe had told them that he was someone who’d been there when they’d shown up some twelve years earlier and had never left. He was harmless enough, the veritable old soul they liked to keep around as a show of goodwill. Sascha had even come out and said he was like part of the family. A crotchety old grandfather too stubborn to move on out, any remains of his family had long since left and nobody had the heart to tell him to get on out. She doubted she would have any such problem. Ski instructors weren’t known for their ruthlessness. Certainly not enough to have someone knocked on their head and tossed in the gutter. It wasn’t her problem though. And so, she was happy to see him there. It harked back to a time less stressful. He reminded her of her own long dead grandfather. Every night he’d talk and talk, a lot of the time she’d listen and occasionally he’d bring up some stuff about the Divines and how he’d seen them.
At first, she hadn’t believed him. She’d wanted to dismiss him as insane completely out of hand. Everyone else had. She’d seen the looks when he’d started to speak. Phillipe would roll his eyes like a sarcastic teenager. And though Sascha was a little kinder, it was clear she thought him a lunatic. But although everything she’d been told in life had urged her to ignore him, part of her wanted to believe. A part of her that had grown with time. She’d listened closer and closer whenever the stories had started, stories she’d never heard before, even from the zents. Stories not of the Divines as everyone knew them but of before. Before immortality and she’d been hooked. Truly. And soon she’d believed that the old stories might well have been true. They had to have started somewhere. Nobody back then had that much of an imagination to come up with them all on their own. And even then, it
likely was told orally. She wasn’t sure she was impressed by hearing things were due to change. Who knew that the Gilgarus and the Melarius and the Griselle that they knew about today were the same as had originally been told about to individuals long ago? (At the time, she hadn’t considered that they might have been attributed to more than one individual) And with all the things going around, was it impossible to believe that some exceptionally powerful god-like beings once walked the kingdoms? Or that they still existed somewhere, untapped by humans?
Come the last day, she’d reached the point she was ready to start pushing every credit she could find into an expedition. Even with all the family fortune not behind her at that point, she could do it better than the average man. Having the answers meant more to her right there and then than having all the credits in the five kingdoms.
That last day she’d seen him, he’d been shovelling snow outside his cabin, barely wheezing as he humped the bales of snow away from his path. She’d happened by and waved at him. He’d given her a smile. She could still remember the lack of teeth on the right side of his mouth. He’d gestured her over and she’d gone, a strange fascination filling her. It was a sensation she’d never felt before, warm inside herself despite the cold outside. Remembering his words was easier than recalling what she’d had for breakfast.
“Yer ‘n interested little missy,” he’d huffed, prepping coffee over a fire, stirring in spoons full of the black stuff into the pot. Already the water was starting to bubble.
“You’re an interesting man,” she’d said. “I like your stories.” She’d been so innocent back then.
“An’ I like that ye listen. Plenty don’t. An’ it’ll cost ‘em one day. There’sa goin’ be a reckonin’ oh yey there will. You’ll probably live t’see it an’ all.”
If that wasn’t going to intrigue her, nothing was. He continued to speak, amid the flickering of the fire and the smell of coffee. The most memorable sensations of her life to that point. Everything past then felt fuzzy.
“One day they’ll come back ‘n it’ll burn us all. Divine fire’ll set us all down.” He made an exaggerated gesture. “You think they’ll wan’ te SHARE?!” That last word was practically screamed. “Would ye wan’ te share wi’ us? We’re an ‘orrble folk really. But they’re locked. Can’ come back if the key won’ fit. Analurich the Jailer, ‘member ‘im? Nemesis, trickster, thief, jailer. They got locked up, all o’ ‘em. Right now, they trapped. An’ they can’ get out. Don’ wan’ ‘em out!”
His eyes were growing more and more manic by the second, his speech become less coherent as he ranted. And yet she didn’t feel fear. Not of him. Not for him. If anything, she felt a sense of cold fascination running through her. For the first time it crossed her mind that he might be insane. If that was the case, what did it mean for all his stories and his colourfully tall tales? She didn’t want to know. “They’ll get out one day. Can’ stay locked up f’rever. Nobody’ll save us if they do. Nobody can. They’ll eat our world.”
A stray fleck of drool ran down the corner of his mouth. She could see the red in it. Blood. He didn’t let it stop him.
“This key, it keeps ‘em away. I hide it, they can’ get out and we safe. I keep us all safe.” He’d dug the key out from around his neck and held it in front of her. It hadn’t been as shiny then. Rust had caked it. She could smell it even above his breath. “This’s our future!”
He hadn’t wanted to part with it, but on that night in the mountains with the snow beating down outside, she’d done what she could. That had been the culmination to an interesting ski trip. His accent had been thick, she hadn’t understood all of what he’d said, but he’d been persuaded to part with it. She’d offered him a solid gold watch for it. Nothing. He’d been uninterested, continued to rant on about how he was the saviour. How he was safeguarding the future. Noble, in a way. It was a quality you saw less and less.
All she could say for the public record would be that when he’d been found dead halfway down the mountain with a broken neck and frozen solid, the key hadn’t been around his neck. What she’d never mention is that it was in her pocket. And her bodyguard had been sworn to secrecy. A secret that he’d taken to his grave shortly afterwards. Such a tragic accident. Another one close after the first. That one she did feel more regret over. Poisoned food. How… unfortunate.
Maybe she should have felt more remorse over time. And yet somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything for that old man who’d given her some interesting memories. He’d given her a goal. If anything, he could have claimed to have had more of an impact on the way her existence had shaped itself than anyone else. For his memory had left more of a lasting impression than anything else he’d done while alive. For that, she’d vowed she’d leave flowers on his grave every year. It had soon devolved to every two years. Then every five. She hadn’t been for twenty years. She’d downgraded it to occasionally thinking about him. That was something she couldn’t break. Not while she had that key in her possession.
Now if only someone could find what it unlocked…
As much as she loved her sanctuary, she couldn’t stay here forever. Life had to go on. It was with a heavy heart she’d locked up and retreated to the world. Her world. Back to the game of masks and lies. Like the lies she told her daughter when she said she liked her wedding dress. She’d stood there and watched, tried to look fascinated. Really, it made her look like a giant pale pumpkin. Must have succeeded. She’d caught her face in the mirror and had been convinced. The two assistants fitting up Meredith, they’d been uneasy around her. It could be explainable. Maybe they were intimidated by her wealth. She liked that normally. Intimidation was an aphrodisiac she couldn’t get enough of.
Even better that the two of them close as enough had the entire area to themselves. The Haxfold shopping district, the pride of the Canterage capital. You needed an eight-figure account to even walk there. Most of the shops were appointment only. Well in advance booking as well. Small privately owned exclusive places that brought in more in a week than most places brought in in a year. Add in the backdrop of gorgeous fauna more in sync with rolling sun soaked Burykian countryside than a rainy city several kingdoms away, more with dirt than marbled pavements lined with faint gold and dull crystal. The streets were indeed lined with gold. It felt good under her boot heels.
“Thanks, mum,” Meredith eventually said, the two of them sat out on a bench staring across at a field of blue, red and white. It smelled of aniseed and pepper, an intoxicating mix. It made her nose water just inhaling it.
“For what, dear?”
“Ah, I know it’s not been easy. We’ve had our rows, right? I mean, we’ve like fought and stuff.”
That education for Meredith had not been wasted, clearly. The girl did have some grasp of the obvious. The elocution lessons on the other hand, she would have happily demanded those credits back. “If you want to put it like that. You haven’t been an easy child.” Maybe a flash of guilt stabbed at her at the look on her daughter’s face. “But you’ve been far from imperfect as well. Sometimes you have your flaws. As do I.” No, she didn’t. But she wasn’t going to broadcast that. “But we haven’t done bad together.” She put an arm around her. “I’m proud of you. And I’m going to miss you living with me.” It felt false to let a small choke slip into her voice. She did it anyway. She seemed to accept the words at face value. Maybe that was the true meaning of love. Seeing through the lies and choosing to ignore them. “I wish your father was still around to see this.”
Lies came easy to her. Sometimes she tried to really make the effort with Meredith. She’d put plenty of hours in. The longer it had gone on, the harder it had been. Raising a child to be anything less than a spoiled bitch in this environment had been nigh on impossible, despite every effort. Everything she could and it hadn’t been enough. Her one and only failure. The one and only lie she couldn’t accept to herself. What she’d said to her earlier, it’d put anyone else off thinking she’d fai
led as a mother. She knew she had. She settled back into her office chair and yawned. The day had been long. She’d sleep well tonight. That much she knew for sure. Yet she couldn’t relax just yet, for one thing remained. A prior engagement that had already been put back due to her exertions with her dubious daughter, much to her irritation. The men at the gate had called up to tell her he was on his way. She leaned forward to rest her chin on her hands, eyes shut and the clock ticking loud in her ears.
And there he was walking through the door. Her white knight, her black scoundrel and her grey terror all rolled into one. Her protector, her enforcer, and the only other human being in the kingdoms she’d trust with not just her life but her entire existence. He carried a briefcase, no doubt that which she’d sent him out for. He wouldn’t let her down. Others might. He wouldn’t fail. He’d fight to succeed or he’d risk death trying. Not that she’d ever seen him come anywhere close to being killed. The man was a monster, physically and emotionally but he was her monster. He was only what she wanted him to be.
“Mistress,” he said in a low voice. He always called her that. Being honest, she privately liked it. Being honest, she bloody loved it. He didn’t have to call her anything. But that title gave her a little thrill of glee, the sort of which she hadn’t felt in any other way for a very long time. She was on the verge of ensuring everyone below her called her that. It hinted at so much mystery.