Masks

by Dean M. Drinkel

  This was typical behaviour of the Lady Montbéliard; scatterbrained and utterly excitable, hidden away behind the thin veneer of the proper social graces a woman of her stature was required. Proper, Raphaël noted, but not humble.

  She leaped at the chance to flaunt herself before her peers and irk them with her outlandish fashion sense and shows of personal wealth. To her, any sort of attention was good attention. It made the walk with her down the grand vestibule of the Marquis' château longer and more dredging.

  It was, however, a necessary evil. Raphaël was a young noble with little wealth and even less power, and even fewer noble allies, still. The fact that he was invited to attend this masquerade at all was a blessing, as the Marquis Arnaud de Forbin was someone whose favour could raise the Laval family to where they truly thought they deserved.

  The trouble with that, of course, was that Raphaël needed to stay in Lady Montbéliard's good standing, as she was the only person of any stature willing to help him.

  “My lady,” said Raphaël, interrupting her sermon about the correct amount of custard needed to bake the perfect meat pastry, “I know little about our most gracious host. It would be remiss of me not to correct this.”

  This much was true; Raphaël had been informed very little about the Marquis, his guests, or anything having to do with the affairs of the evening. If the rumours were to be believed that he and Lady Montbéliard were close friends, then he could ascertain everything he needed about the Marquis from her.

  “Oh! Garçon!” she called out to the young boy with a tray of drinks, seemingly oblivious to the presented question. She released Raphaël's arm and took two glasses from the tray, turning to Raphaël and offering him the other one. “Drink. Arnaud spared no expense on the catering.”

  “Of course, my Lady,” Raphaël grumbled, reluctantly taking the drink and sipping it. “About the Marquis...”

  The question had scarcely left his lips when Lady Montbéliard's rather short attention span broke again, this time directed towards the pool at the foot of the stairs that lead to the château's main hallway.

  More specifically, she was pointing at the rather large sculpture that stood in the middle of the pool and extended almost to the roof of the vestibule. Of course, Raphaël had noticed a statue when he entered the château, but he hadn't paid any attention to it beyond the fact that it was indeed there.

  Now that Lady Montbéliard had directed his attention towards it, he could not peel himself away. And it was not for an overabundance of beauty; quite the opposite, in fact. Raphaël, who was no avid lover of art, couldn't help but be awed and repulsed by the towering statue.

  It resembled a man, vaguely.

  Slanted eyes that ended in sharp points twisted and roped their way around the statue's jaw to meet with the earlobes, which themselves ended in barbed horns. A crooked nose pointed in two, divided down the middle, creating a grotesque ‘x’ shape. It hung loosely over the thin lips of a closed mouth that curled into a wolfish grin.

  This was made all the more eerie by the fact that the statue's gaze arched downwards, at the group of people hanging about the edge of the pool. Its robust body, chiseled with great detail that accentuated its rather impressive physique, was naked until about its hip, where a robe fell down to the statue's ankles.

  The statue's fingers were wrapped around the twisting, gnarled shaft of a great spear as tall as its wielder was, its jagged point impaled into a stone body laying at the statue's feet. The spear's victim was oddly void of any detail, lacking any of the strong features that the looming colossus possessed.

  It did, however, have an arm stretched upwards, in what looked like an attempt to grab onto its executioner's left arm; an arm that itself held an open book with its cover facing outwards.

  On it was written a single word: ‘Judgement’.

  A sense of dread billowed inside Raphaël the more he gazed at the great stone beast. Eventually he forced himself to look away.

  “So, the Marquis is an admirer of art?” Raphaël asked, breathlessly. He felt himself push his mask tighter onto his face, as if he was subconsciously shielding himself from the great monstrosity before him.

  “Oh! Quite,” his companion answered with zest. “Arnaud is an avid collector, with pieces from across the globe. Some from states I had never even heard of before. Literature as well...” She smiled, extending her hand towards a door on the near side of the wall on the upper level. “His library is just over there.”

  Raphaël eyed the door with an irrational suspicion. He didn't know why, but a deep sense of curiosity had consumed him.

  That statue, by all accounts, was eerie.

  Foreboding, even.

  Blasphemous to a more conservative mind.

  And yet it stood there, out in the open for even the most prestigious of guests to look it. From afar, it was innocent enough. But there was no avoiding that demonic stare the closer you came to entering the Marquis' home. He had an itch to peer into the library and see what tomes the Marquis had collected over the years, but was reluctant to do so if they resembled anything like his rather...eccentric taste in art.

  No, he thought. I must know the kind of man I am soon to be in league with. If not for my own sake, than for the sake of my house at least.

  Raphaël glanced around the room. The vestibule was filling up as more and more guests arrived.

  A sea of dark colours swallowed the yellow reflection of the floor as bodies draped in black and red and blue took to the floor. Some were happily chatting away, drinking brandy. Others explored the areas of the château that were open to them. A small group observed the statue, the great spectre that hung over the room.

  To Raphaël's eye, however, everyone was having quite an enjoyable time. It was as if opportunity itself had laid out the carpet for him. He needed to seize the moment.

  “My lady,” he said, turning towards his companion, “if you'd be so kind to excuse me...”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes!” she said, her attention directed elsewhere. Without a warning, she darted off towards the other side of the room, calling for someone. “M. d'Aubert! M. d'Aubert!”

  Raphaël saw her embrace the other and released his breath. He had been certain it would have taken far more effort to lose his shadow. He took another glance around the vestibule to ensure that no eyes were upon him as he casually made his way toward the library door.

  Pressing his hand to the knob, he gave it a slight twist.

  A click sounded and he slowly opened the door, peering into a room as black as sin. Taking a deep breath and looking over his shoulder once more to ensure that no eyes were upon him, he stepped into the library and lit the half-melted candle before he closed the door behind him.

  An immediate wave of mustiness filled Raphaël's nostrils. The room stood in sharp contrast with the glamour of the rest of the château: plain, dull, and drab. Books were scattered around the bookcases and the large oaken table in the middle of the room in a haphazard manner; piled up on top of one another and tossed about without care.

  There was a thin layer of dust that Raphaël played with in between his fingers as he inspected some of the shelves on the far wall. For a collector of such curiosities, Raphaël thought, the Marquis does not seem to treasure them.

  Raphaël dragged his finger across the emblazoned spines of the books, squinting and holding the candle close to his face in an attempt to penetrate the dimness of the room. Nothing seemed quite as out of the ordinary as Raphaël had somewhat hoped, until at last he had made his way to the ornate cabinet just a few paces removed from the grand desk in the middle.

  At its very top was a glass case, just as dusty as the rest of the unkempt room. However, Raphaël was more interested in the closed doors that hung below the case, which he discovered were locked when he tried to open them.

  Frustrated, he placed his hand on the glass absent mindedly and recoiled when he realized what he had done, trying to clean the grey glove that was wrapped around his hand.
He set down the candle on the glass case, when something inside the case, now visible with the dust removed, caught his eye.

  He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and cleaned the surface as best as he could, removing most of the dust until its contents - more books - were clearly visible.

  These books were very different than the others, however, and just looking at them filled Raphaël with the same sensation as the statue outside did. The reason for this was most likely that Raphaël was once again looking at the image of the statue, however this time it was drawn on the black cover of the book sitting directly on top of the pile with a golden fill.

  The inescapable desire to find out what that creature was drove Raphaël, and he soon found himself looking for a way to open the case, despite his better judgement. Unlike the cabinet doors, the case wasn't sealed with any such lock and he had no difficulty removing it and setting it on the table behind him.

  Placing the candle down, Raphaël grabbed the pile of tomes and sat down in the shadowy study and began to flip through the pages, glancing at the words as they melded together in the search for some sort of clarity.

  The Latin was thick, difficult for Raphaël to translate even on a day when his mind was at its sharpest.

  He knew enough to make do, but he was certain some of the text was lost to him. What he did understand, however, was just as oblique. Words strung together talking about things that were otherworldly.

  Sacraments that he had never ever heard of before.

  Names of places - or things - that sounded foreign to his ears as he repeated them out loud. It was a pattern that continued from one book to another, until he finally came to the one he had set aside for last: the one with the image of the statue on the cover.

  Raphaël glanced at the door and then returned his gaze to the book. He debated whether he had enough time to go through it, as he had spent enough time away from the party, and he was certain to have already aroused attention to his absence.

  His fingers traced the outlined of the cover slowly and methodically...and then his mind was set. A few more minutes wouldn't hurt his cause more than it already had. Raphaël peeled open the cover and began to skim the pages.

  It was not long until he had flipped the ancient, crumbling paper to a full page image of the same creature on the cover, in full colour and surrounded by what could only be surmised as a lake of fire engulfing bodies that waded around the great beast's ankles.

  The end the great spear carried with it a mangled corpse that bled into the great pool, and the heavens themselves burned in the sky around them. There was a script that Raphaël had never seen before elegantly wrapping the outside boarder of the portrait, its presence greatly eye-catching with its heavy red ink.

  It was the same ink that was used to inscribe ‘Judgement’ on the book's cover, though the implication that it wasn't ink in the context of the picture made it slightly more disturbing. On the other page was a title written in lavish calligraphy, and again, in a language that eluded Raphaël.

  Not that it mattered; it wouldn't change the fact that the first thing he would see as he exited the room would be a statue of this...demon.

  This monstrous thing in the midst of casting his judgement upon the world. It was blasphemous, if not evil. Raphaël shuddered to think of what the Marquis found appealing in such things.

  Moreover, why he would commission a statue of such a vile thing to desecrate his otherwise pristine and beautiful château. Raphaël closed the book and carefully replaced them under the glass case.

  He blew out the candle and slowly stepped out of the door, again pressing his ivory mask close against his face as if it would prevent him from garnering any attention as he left the library behind and closed its door.

  “My dear boy,” a voice behind him said. “This curious nature doesn't suit you.” Raphaël jolted back, startled.

  “My Lady Montbéliard,” he stammered. She raised a finger and placed it on his mouth, and he could see a devious smile curl up from behind the overlarge butterfly mask she wore.

  “No words. You've been in places where you shouldn't have been.” Her eyes glanced at the door behind him and then returned to meet his own.

  There was something different about her. This wasn't the same skittish woman who had greeted him when he entered. The impulsiveness replaced with a somber seriousness that placed Raphaël off-guard.

  “No matter,” she playfully chided him. “Come. Dance with me.” She extended her arm and Raphaël took it with only the most minor reluctance.

  He didn't know how long ago she noticed him escape, what she knew or what game she was playing, but it seemed that there was little to do but play it along with her.

  She led him past the swooning darkness of the vestibule - past the demonic colossus - and into the heart of the Marquis' château, where a large portion of the other guests had filtered into.

  She waited only a moment for the troupe to finish the song they were already playing before leading Raphaël to the floor and assuming the position of a minuet.

  “So, did you find what you were looking for?” she asked rather abruptly as the dance started.

  “I'm sorry?” Raphaël offered apologetically. He looked around at the other couples near him nervously. Have I been caught? He wondered, as a bead of sweat begin to trickle down behind his ear.

  Instead, Lady Montbéliard laughed. “Don't take me for a fool, Raphaël.”

  She paused only to allow Raphaël to twirl her and then returned into his arms. “I know you were snooping around Arnaud's library. We all do.” She motioned her head towards the other behind her.

  Raphaël saw them smile and snicker at him behind large black masks - not quite as flamboyant as Lady Montbéliard, but all of them overshadowing Raphaël's meagre white visage.

  “You're not exactly subtle, you know.”

  “My lady, I assure you...”

  “Do not assure me anything, Raphaël, especially since we both know you cannot.”

  Again a twirl. Raphaël looked around him and saw that a circle had formed around the dance floor, with himself,

  Lady Montbéliard and the other three couples in the middle of it. Their hushed whispers were steadily rising and while he could not hear precisely what they were saying,

  Raphaël had the strong inclination that they were directed at him. Behind every mask were a pair of gleaming eyes that peered deeply into him. The tension in the air was palpable.

  “Arnaud is not a forgiving man,” she continued. “I would suggest not pushing your luck in such a way when I bring you to him.”

  Raphaël jerked his head towards her. “You're still going to introduce me?”

  Lady Montbéliard offered nought but a smirk at first. Raphaël could feel her studying him, and it made the already anxious count even more uneasy.

  “I told you I would, did I not?” she responded after a long pause. “Besides, he thinks very highly of you. He feels that you would be a perfect fit.”

  “Fit for what?” Raphaël asked.

  Lady Montbéliard moved to his side and bowed towards the circle of guests, who were already clapping.

  The song was over and Raphaël had scantly noticed. He dipped forward and bowed with her, his white mask held firmly in his hand as he ducked down enough to avoid showing his face to the crowd.

  A legion of masks swept up whatever light was in the room, stared back at him as he arose. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure standing over the balcony looking down at him.

  A moment later and the shadow had gone. Raphaël questioned if he had even seen anything at all when he took another look at the crowd around him, and a tingling sense of panic shot up his spine.

  Everywhere he saw images of that bestial visage, draped in black.

  Raphaël didn't know if it was just a trick of the light, or his own overactive imagination, but no matter he turned he saw the face of the statue; every mask bore its jagged look, with that scowling, lecherou
s stare in its eyes.

  Soon he heard the chants in his mind, the profane choir repeating the words he couldn't read in the Marquis' library. They created a dark hum that wallowed in his ears, and grew progressively louder as Raphaël's vision became blurry.

  The château fell into dereliction; portraits turned to ruin, the colour on the tattered carpets faded and furniture that was scarcely a century old crumbled under the heavy weight of age. The chandelier, whose light was extinguished by the red sky outside, swung from the rafters as the droning hum became louder and louder.

  He spun around the room with his eyes, looking for something that could bring him back to the grip of sanity when he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder...and then it all faded. The sounds were gone, his vision stabilized, and he soon realized that nobody was even paying attention to him, let alone staring him down like a pack of wolves.

  Lady Montbéliard gracefully stepped in front of him. She crooked her eyes and looked at him before running her hand across the exposed portion of his cheek.

  “The Marquis will see you now,” she told him ever so softly. Raphaël managed a weak nod. Then, taking his hand - which was still shaking frantically - she lead him away from the crowd.

  They slipped past the rooms filled with the Marquis' guests and climbed one staircase followed by another for what seemed like a very long time.

  The château was large, but Raphaël was unsure if that was the reason for the seemingly long trip or if it was the residue from the episode that had played out in his mind.

  Lady Montbéliard said nothing until they arrived to two towering dark brown doors, polished so thoroughly that Raphaël could see his reflection in them. She grasped one of the two golden handles. “You won't be needing that,” she said as her eyes went to the mask that Raphaël clenched in his other hand. Truth be told, he had completely forgotten about it up until now. “Don't wear it in Arnaud's presence. You'll just end up insulting him.”

  Without waiting for Raphaël respond, she pushed the doors open and stood to the side, allowing Raphaël to get a good look inside of the room.