by O. J. Lowe
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, away on an errand. Bar the security outside, she was alone, just the way she liked it.
Every three days they came and cleaned the house top to bottom, leaving no spot unturned. Everywhere in her home barring the private rooms she didn’t want them entering out of fear for what they might discover. The room she entered now was one of those few rooms, coded to open to her thumb print alone. She pressed her digit against it, smiled to herself as the scarlet light flashed green with approval.
The door slid open with a curt swish, lights swept on to greet her. She strode into her secret room, gave the covered stands around her a cursory glance. Years of chasing down her hobby had built her quite the collection over the years. Everyone has their kinks and she’d supposed it 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 anyone trying to swindle her, few had tried and 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 the artefacts in their profession but still, a nice fat stack of credits 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 them alone, soon 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. More than credits, the acclaim would be theirs. They went for that sort of thing.
The key was a dirty rust colour, heavy beyond belief, the edges sharp beyond their years suggested. Some of the stains on it were from her, blood 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 acquired it from had claimed he’d found it long ago high up in the mountains up north in Serran. She remembered that day well, a lucky discovery though not for him.
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, any remnants 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, Thomas. 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, wanted to dismiss him as insane. Everyone else did, 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 learned about 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 immortality and she’d been truly hooked.
Soon she’d believed that the old stories might have been true. They had to have started somewhere. Nobody back then had enough of an imagination to come up with them all on their own. And even then, it likely was told orally, meaning inconsistencies between tellers. She wasn’t sure she was impressed by hearing things were due to change. Who knew if the Gilgarus and the Melarius and the Griselle that they knew about today were the same as had originally been told tales of long ago? With everything surrounding them, was it impossible to believe 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 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 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. 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 his stories and colourfully tall tales? She didn’t want to know. “They’ll get out one day. Can’ stay locked up f’rever. Nuffin’ can 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 at night 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 lacking these days.
All she could say for the public record would be how when he’d been found dead halfway down the mountain, neck broken and body frozen, the key hadn’t been around his neck. What she’d never mention was how it had taken place in her pocket. And her bodyguard had been sworn to secrecy. A secret he’d taken to his grave shortly afterwards. Such a tragic accident, one she did regret, though she’d had no choice other than to poison his food.
Maybe she should have felt more remorse over the years. And yet, 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 when 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, returned to her world and 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. She’d caught her face in the mirror and had been convinced she’d believed her. The two assistants fitting up Meredith, they were uneasy around her. Understandable. Maybe they were intimidated by her wealth. She liked the feeling, found it 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, advance booking preferred as well, the small privately-owned sort of places which dripped exclusivity. They brought in more credits in a week than most places did 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. A thin weave of gold had been beaten into the street beneath her boot heels, only a thin layer of dirt obscuring it.
“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 mixture of scents which made her nose water just inhaling.
“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 from 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 the revelation. “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. One of Meredith’s greatest flaws, she’d always found, was how she took words at face value, didn’t bother to seek out the meaning beyond them. 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. What she’d said to her earlier, it’d put anyone else off thinking she’d failed 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, she knew for sure if the nightmares would stay away. Yet she couldn’t relax just yet, for one thing remained. A prior engagement she’d already moved 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 moniker. 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.
“You’re back,” she said, even managing a smile. “It’s good to see you. The place hasn’t been the same without you.”
He didn’t say anything, just placed the case on the table in front of her. He smelled of travel, stale sweat and aeroship peanuts. She studied his face. He couldn’t be that old, she couldn’t tell. He never proffered her anything personal about him. He looked of indeterminate age, she’d had him employed for years, had known him since he was a child. If Meredith was her official daughter, she regarded him very much as her unofficial son. He looked like he could be anywhere between twenty and fifty.
Either way, he was a dangerous man. He moved like a living weapon, slow and deliberate most of the time but able to flip like a switch, from cumbersome to carnage in the blink of an eye. He was larger than some shacks she’d seen while in Vazara last year, his body covered in hard muscle that would have been the envy of all men, yet, she felt the impression he wanted to hug her.
She offered him her hand. He took it, leaned down and clumsily kissed it. His lips were rough, almost as harsh as his stubble, felt strangely out of character for him. Like he’d seen it somewhere and was aping it. Either way, it was nice to have that attention.
“Did it all go to plan?” she asked keeping the smile on. “You weren’t seen?”
“McKenna will never talk,” he said. He couldn’t hold her eyes, not for more than a few seconds. Of all the things a man like him had chosen to love and fear in this world, she was them both and that sent a bursting feeling rippling through her chest, made her happier than she’d ever want to admit “Scared him royal. Had to rough him up a bit to remind him that.” He looked pleased. She’d found his capacity for violence when required one of his more endearing traits.
“Thank you, my friend. Anything you need.” It wasn’t a question. It was permission.
When she looked up from examining the case, he was gone. She wouldn’t see him again for the rest of the night. Yet always he’d be there when she woke up. Her own personal guardian angel.
It was in her own private sanctuary she placed it down
on the table and flipped the catches. It was an old model, the best kind. More recent transport cases could be cracked into easily. Ironically as technology improved, security became that little bit laxer. Simple ten key combination spin-dial, ten possible choices for each dial. Inside it was lined with lead to prevent x-ray examination, the outside lined with a durable steel to stop it being ripped open. She took security very seriously. In the hands of her most loyal servant, it’d have been nigh on impossible to steal. He’d have broken anyone who tried to take it. Literally.
The interior was simple but soft violet velvet. Somehow it made the treasure within stand out that little bit more. The bronze tigress, Melarius fashioned in her pomp, another trinket for her collection. She took in the tigress’ long tail, intended to keep the world spinning, if you believed the stories, and the gold bands intricately detailed about her legs as the first wedding gifts. That was where the tradition started The Queen of the Divines. She didn’t know why she’d made so much of an effort to get it. She’d given nicer pieces away from her collection, yet something had drawn her to it.
Why, she didn’t know. But there was something about it, something inexplicable she’d found. Possessing it now, it didn’t give her answers, but it did satisfaction.
What was the point of power and wealth if you didn’t make it work for you? If you constrained yourselves to the laws of man? Many times, she’d asked herself that question and each time she’d found herself bound to the same answer.
Not a thing.
There was something reassuring about that realisation, she realised, smiling coolly to herself as she removed the statue from the case and gave it pride of place next to the tablet and the key.