Burial of hearts the black widow's malice

by Parnham, N

  Turning away, I slipped my hand into my woven pocket; looking for the room to rent notice I had taken, I managed to slide my fingers into damp sludge. The good aspect was, the room was in this area, the bad… it was above the slaughterhouse that I had been looking at. Avis Aldebourne, journeyed from far away to be slaughtered from below; perhaps that will be what they put on my tombstone.

  I walked over clasping my teeth together; with one half of me thinking this is unwise and the other half thinking this is unwise but you need a place to stay. I chose to submit to the latter thought.

  Opening the door of the slaughterhouse, a small bell rang, allowing the owner to know someone had entered.

  “Hello, is anyone there?”.

  With a few thumps of drawers and a smash of a door, a stocky man came out to greet me. His hair, greasy, forced down upon his forehead; stubble grew widely upon his face, leading downwards to his chest, where it had opted to curl up, transforming it into a rug like texture. He wore a torn white apron, with blood sprayed upon it, fresh from his latest killing. He brought with him the stench of overused chamber pots, of which I believe he was not too aware, due to his obviously inadequate cleansing routine.

  “Yes? What do you want?”. He said to me rather crudely, touching upon my flesh with his dirty, beady eyes.

  “I… saw the advert for a room on the notice board?”.

  “Right and so what do you want woman?”.

  “Well it would be nice to actually view it and if it is to my satisfaction, I will take it; I will pay up front of course”.

  “Do not come here with demands woman, I am Fredrom, you should learn that name; anyway, the room is not to rent. I do not wish for someone of your kind in my home; now get out you trollop”.

  “I beg your pardon; if that is how you speak to women, no wonder you are here alone; a big ego for a small… ”.

  “I dare you, say it woman”.

  “No, I am not going to lower myself down to your level, I have plenty of coin, but none for your services, I will go now, man”.

  “Wait, coin… you say? If you could pay tenfold the usual rate I will let you stay; what do you say?”.

  “I say I can and I would, but perhaps you should grovel a little; if you want the coin that is? And of course to please my ego”.

  “Well… ok then, I am sorry for being so harsh with you, now will you take the room?”.

  “Perhaps you could be a little more convincing? How about saying ‘Please my gracious queen, join me in my abode, I am but your loyal, dumbfounded servant’”.

  “No way”.

  “Very well then, I shall take my business elsewhere”.

  “No, wait; ok if I must. Please my gracious queen, join me in my abode, I am but your loyal, dumbfounded servant”. He said in a somewhat irritated tone, whilst looking around the room, to avoid eye contact.

  “Much better Fredrom, keep that up and you shall be wedded in no time. Now here is a thousand coin, I assume this will more than cover the fees?”.

  “Certainly, let me show you to your room”.

  Following Fredrom, we went through the back of the shop; the walls were filthy, covered in both blood and dirt; the inners of his slaughtered animals were thrown within buckets, placed under the hacked metal tables. We walked up a set of stairs, past a fair number of the storage rooms, avoiding piled up boxes of salt and hazardous brushes stretched out across the hallway.

  “I hope it will serve you well my lady… ”.

  Upon entering my room, I would have found a home for my items, but due to what had ensued, I only had a few left; which did not include the dagger my father had given to me. My room was airy; a few objects were placed about my room, a single bed, the quilts of which were a murky brown colour; stained and with burns throughout. There was a wardrobe for my clothing; well I was certain that would not get used, unless of course I decided I wanted to walk around exposed, ready in waiting for all whom dare to see. Behind the door was an aptly sized table, with a selection of books thrown about.

  My window was quite peculiar; extruding out in bizarre directions; only held together by eroding screws, some of which hung loosely.

  Despite the appearance of the bed, I chose to rest upon it; it would possibly be the only chance I got until this evening and I have not slept in quite some time.

  As soon as I laid down upon the bed I immediately noticed something untoward and it was not the odour from the under washed bedding, it was the frame itself.

  Standing back up, I walked to the end of the bed, pressing down onto the frame; it did not move an inch, but on closer inspection I saw that it was slanted and so also was the whole of the floor.

  “This will be a remarkable experience”. I said to myself, as I sucked on my lower lip.

  Stepping back over, I lowered myself, deciding to position my body to the side of the bed, which was a fraction straighter; keeping myself level headed was always a desirable trait.

  A few hours passed by, waking up, then falling back to sleep again; having dreams that seemed to have no connection with any event in my life; ultimately arising as nature called me to duty at the most inconvenient of times.

  The sun was beginning to set and the town crier was bellowing words in a strong accent that only the local folk could clearly understand. Time to explore I thought to myself. I walked to the end of the hallway, seeing sunlight I chose not to venture downstairs, instead veering to the right, coming out into a raised garden patio. There seemed, at first, to be nothing exceptional about this area; half of the plants had withered away, the chairs were longstanding and half broken and the stone slabs upon the floor were layered in moist moss, which squeezed out shaded water as you stepped upon it. The area was enclosed completely; if somebody had wished to, they could watch down upon me, through one of the countless windows that lined the walls.

  On the far side, there was a raised area; built of dense blocks, they were not held together in any way, merely piled loosely upon another. Atop of the blocks were a group of oblong containers, filled with nothing but overgrown mushrooms. I fairly enjoyed the soft touch of mushrooms against my skin; back home we often used to gather them; I was always the first to volunteer to slice them, ready to be cooked; an uncommon habit I suppose, but we all have them.

  Reaching towards them, they began to move as my hand came close; each time I tried to hold onto one, they quickly whisked the other direction. Becoming fed up, I went to sit down.

  I swung out my arms, as the chair I was sat upon broke, with the sound of twisted wood. I heard a titter of laughter as I fell. Looking up I could see the mushrooms were staring at me, their bodies bopping up and down as if they were somehow doing a one-legged dance. Their eyes were large and green, extruding from the sockets that had appeared.

  “Hello?”.

  “Hello, hello, we say hello, with the voice that we hold we say hello”. The mushrooms sang, high at first, the last giving a very deep hello.

  “What… exactly… are you?”.

  “We are the mighty mushrooms, the mighty mushrooms we be; here is thump and lump but do watch out for trump; ratty and bratty, did we introduce you to fatty?”.

  “Ok… I am going to leave now…”. Hastily turning, I went back into the house as they sang me their send-off tune.

  “Goodbye, farewell, a happy time it has been, come back quite soon, but please I beg, do not eat me (sang one of the smaller mushrooms in a high-pitched tone)”.

  Walking down the stairs, I chose to go back out into the city and have a look around the shops; I had plenty of coin, so I think it is time to treat myself.

  I gazed around; there was so much choice. I walked over to the textile shop; my room needed a good sprucing up, this place looked like it could possibly help.

  Entering, I was welcomed by an old lady, she must have been at least seventy years old; her face seemed to be slowly fading away, drooping far below that of an average position. She let me view her latest imports; a good portion of fore
ign influence was incorporated into the designs of these new items; but really, I wanted a more homely feeling.

  Pacing myself over to the rugs, there were varying designs; some plain and reedy; there were rounded rugs, with floral patterns raised up from the background; even one as big as my room; which was hung upon one of the walls. I chose a simple rug, soft and subtle, the design restrained from becoming complex.

  Continuing to look around, I also bought some frilly curtains and some bedding. The curtains were lilac in colour with a stepping stone pattern cut out; that would be picturesque in the morning as the sun shone through, I mumbled to myself.

  Exiting the shop, I thanked the lady; patting me on my shoulder, her expression showed that of great pleasure, as if I was the single most important customer she had ever served; or perhaps she was just in a good mood because she had gained coin out of me?

  Holding all of the items, I knew I would not be able to carry everything I wanted today. I saw a small child, he appeared around thirteen in age, he looked reliable, a hard worker for someone so small. He was pulling an empty cart along; useful, I thought to myself. Trotting over towards him, I requested his assistance in keeping safe my items, as I continued to shop; he quickly agreed as I had offered him coin for his troubles.

  I placed the rug, bedding and curtains into the cart as I inquired upon his name; he replied Joshua.

  “Follow me please, Joshua”. I said firmly, as if now a person of great authority.

  I entered into the candle maker’s shop, whilst Joshua stood outside as an honourable guard, watching over my newly bought goods. There was a wide selection of candles to choose from; different shapes and colours, some were scented and some were not.

  A man came over to me; he wore a small wooden name badge; his name was Mr Tinstern. Affront of him was a glass display case, demonstrating fine works of art in candle form; hand carved, to represent the subject matter; whether it were a person or be it an animal, they were almost too realistic; a waste really, to melt away such remarkable expertise.

  “How may I help you today?”. Mr Tinstern said all the time scratching at his balding head.

  “Would it at all be possible to purchase some candles in bulk, say forty?”. I said as I looked around the building, noticing the spiders who crept between the piles of candles, placed upon the storage racks.

  “Of course, what type were you looking for, anything in particular?”.

  “No, no, I am merely searching for some plain, humble candles, that each would last one day lit”.

  “One moment, I shall bring them to you”.

  Opening a container; Mr Tinstern looked over towards the corner of his shop to a group of bulky candles; motioning them, they rose up, forming an orderly line, placing themselves perfectly in the container, after first self-wrapping in a thin paper sheet.

  “There we go, now is there anything else I can help you with today?”.

  Glancing around, I saw a sign advertising the option to create your own candles; why not, I thought to myself. I do not often get to treat myself, so today I was going to.

  “May I perhaps create my own candle? How much will it cost?”. I said with a trivial smile on my face.

  “Of course, come this way; it is twenty coin. Now what colour(s) would you like?”.

  Taking a weighted wick, I dipped it firstly within a pot full of uncoloured honey wax, then removing it, setting the wick aside for a short moment for it to harden. Slowly I built up layers of colour, starting from green at the centre, to a light pink on the outside; adding the odour of jasmine that would be released as and when I chose to melt this hand-crafted candle.

  “That will be two hundred and twenty coin please”. Mr Tinstern said, ushering me to swiftly give him the coin, not releasing his grip on the container until I did.

  Handing over the coin, I picked up the container, the weight of which was too much of a challenge for myself, so Mr Tinstern helped me kindly, placing it within the cart, next to the other items I had purchased.

  “Are you ok Joshua? You look bored, I hope you will not disappear on me?”.

  “No, I will be fine, as long as you pay me the coin”. He said as he fiddled with his petite fingers.

  “Let us get some food, my treat”. I said as I heard his stomach starting to growl like a wild pack of dogs.

  “May we? Thank you; I have not eaten in days, well hours, but as mother says, I am a growing lad”.

  There was a small bakery close by; ‘The Cut-Throat Buns’ it was called; hopefully this was not literal.

  Smells of endless varieties of food wafted through the air, now encouraging my stomach to grumble as well. Glancing around the store, there were freshly baked pies, sausages bursting with different herbs and spices, savoury lattices, oozing with pleasant smells as they cooked, as well as many other delicious looking treats. I chose a locally matured cheese pastry tart and a freshly brewed barley tea; being somewhat indecisive, Joshua chose the same as me.

  Seating ourselves outside in one of the unoccupied tables, we gorged on the tarts; there were parts of the filling that had become caramelised (some would say burnt) these were always my favourite, teeming with hearty flavours.

  “So… young Joshua, what is it you do with yourself, are you at school?”. I said as I picked up the remaining crumbs that had landed upon my plate.

  “My mother, she is poor and does not have enough coin to put me into school; I hope one day I could be a great leader”. Looking down sighing, he continued to talk.

  “But… my father left my mother when I came into the world, left us with debts and quite a number of enemies; now he is dead. I do not think I will amount to anything other than the cast away junk hoarder I am now”.

  “Listen, everyone can be something, no one is meaningless. There may be people who differ from you in personality, some people who you may even consider evil, but even they should never be counted as meaningless; for all of us, no matter how society places us, are special. You in your hands, hold the key to your own destiny; no matter how hard the circumstances become, never give up on your dreams. A broken man is he who has lost of his dreams”. I said whilst I held tightly onto his hand.

  “I suppose, but not all dreams can come true; can my heart will my father back? No it will not”.

  “Your dreams should be for you, not for someone else; what you want in life you cannot wish to come about by another; anyway let us continue”.

  I ventured into many more shops after we ate, gathering all that I may possibly need; some new clothing from the tailors, sea salts and soaps, a new dagger from the blacksmiths, if I needed it at all; as well as a few furnishings to lighten up my room.

  “Here is your coin, wait here a moment, I am just going to get something for myself to eat for supper”.

  I paid for a jellied meat pie, along with some uncooked hognobbles to go along with it.

  Turning around, Joshua was running away, along with all the items in the cart; his legs sweeping through the air with no force to break him. Quickly leaving the bakers, I shouted over to him to stop; he turned and squinted at me, but he did not slow down. Starting to sprint, I juggled between speed and holding onto my supper. He was gaining momentum and was soon to be out of sight; my leg was giving way, still in pain from the night before.

  Stopping him in his tracks, a young individual from the panotti, tackled Joshua; warding him off with the threat of a strike, but without hurting him.

  “You should be more careful who you trust… sorry what is your name? I am Camerine, second son to my father Bero, grandchild to the heralded late Leoui”.

  “Thank you, I am Avis. I was not at all expecting him to do that after the story he had told me. I thought he would have a deeper respect for people’s possessions”. I said, at the same time glancing at his enormous ears that almost wrapped around his figure.

  “Let me warrant a guess, a sob story of how his father died and how he and his mother struggles?”. Camerine said all the time g
iving a stagnant expression on his face.

  “Yes… how did you know of that?”.

  “It is his routine, he tries it with all the new folks in town; sometimes it works, sometimes like now, there are people who know him well enough to ward him off. If you were wondering, his father is very much alive and he is in on the scheme they have. I would say it was criminal what they do, but no one takes any notice; the guards get their bribes and no word is said”.

  “Sounds delightful; well at least I know one more person to avoid; I will not fuss over the coin, he did as I asked, so he got his just reward”.

  “No doubt you will see him again. So are you new here? I do not think I recognise your face and I am quite the memory giant, makes up for my small stature I suppose”.

  “Yes, I only arrived here today. I have managed to rent a room above the slaughterhouse and I am just coming to grasps with this place; seems a little surreal to be truthfully honest”.

  “You will soon become quite accustomed to this place, quirky as it may be. If you are in need of a job, I run a modest maid lodge; we cater for the upper classes in society, our most renowned being Hecate”.

  Looking at my cart indirectly, as the wheels creaked in the breeze, I considered his offer; silent words formulating plans, unforeseen by any other.

  “You say you work for Hecate? What does this job entail?”.

  “We do, but she is somewhat particular about which members of staff are allowed within her household, so you would have to begin with another client of ours; if of course you are willing? You would be undertaking mostly household tasks, but you may be needed to also prepare food and collect whatsoever the client requests. May I ask why the spark of interest in Hecate?”.

  “Sorry, but it is a private matter, something very personal to me. I am rather interested in the job, when can I begin?”.

  “Fair enough, I understand. Tomorrow we have a new client ‘Mr Bullwort’ we are in the process of finalising the bookkeeping, if you could meet me outside the slaughterhouse at sunrise; please do not be late, he is keen on punctuality and as a new client we want to make a worthy impression”.